UC-NRLF 


B    M    Dfll    Dfl2 


SELECT  NOVELS.    ^g| 


91 


THE  HIRGTIO. 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    RUSSIAN    OP 


LAjf^TCHNIKOFF. 


k 
it 


THOMAS  B.  SHAW,  PA. 


§ 


OF  Cambridge;   adjun'ot  pkoifssoe  or  >.:.nT.isu  r-rrRATOKE  in  the  ^^©i 

•  IMPEEl         LYCEUM  OF   TSAKSKOE  PJiLO. 


Your  blessing,  O  m)'  brethren '  while  m  ancient  tale  I  lell"-- Sakhamff.  ■'^^j^ 


jri  W  -  Y  O  R  X  t  ^Jir 

HARPER  ^  BROTHERS,  82  CLl  FF-STRE  E '..  Cf'^ 


THE    HERETIC. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  RUSSIAN  OF 


LAJETCHNIKOFF. 


THOMAS  B.  SHAW,  B.A. 

OF    CAMBRIDGE  ;    ADJUNCT    PROFESSOR    OF    ENGLISH    LITERATURE    IN    THE    IMPERIAL 
LYCEUM    OF  TSAR9K0E    SELO. 


Your  blessing,  0  my  brethren  !  while  an  ancient  tale  I  tell." — Sakhumff. 


NEW-YORK: 

PUBLISHED   BY   H  A  R  P  E  R  &  B  R  O  T  li  E  R  S, 

No.  82  C  Li  ff-Stre  et. 

1844. 


THE   TRANSLATOR'S   PREFACE. 


Of  all  the  qualities  which  a  work  of  fiction  must  jios- 
sess,  in  order  to  excite  and  maintain  the  attention  of  the 
re  ider,  the  most  indispensable  is,  undoubtedly— Novelty : 
without  this  seasoning  of  novelty,  the  most  solid  and  nour- 
ishing literary  fare  will  be  pronounced  insipid  ;  with  it, 
even  what  is  unwholesome  and  pernicious,  will  go  glibly 
down  the  throat  of  the  public  consumer. 

In  England,  above  other  countries,  is  this  demand  for 
novelty  felt  and  heard  ;  there  literary,  like  commercial  in- 
dustry, is  so  active,  that  the  imagination  of  the  supplier— 
whether  author,  artist,  or  cotton-printer— is  kept  on  the 
ruck  to  invent  new  patterns ;  or,  to  return  to  the  culinary 
metaphor  with  which  we  began, 

"Onine  peraclutn  est, 
Et  jam  defecrt,  noslnim  mare,  dum  gula  sjevit ; 
Retibus  adsiduis  penilus  serutante  macello 
.  Proninii,  nee  paiilur  Tyirhenuni  crescere  piscem." 

The  novelist  appears  to  have  exhausted  most  of  the 
modes  of  existence,  most  of  the  historical  epochs,  most  of 
the  countries  from  which  any  materials  for  picturesque 
description,  striking  costume,  or  lively  play  of  character, 
could  be  extracted  ■  the  genius  of  Scott  has  conquered  al- 
most as  much  of  the  romantic,  as  the  creative  soul  of 
Shakspeare  had  before  invaded  of  the  dramatic  world, 
leaving  no  room  for  inferior  writers  of  fiction. 


The  East,  too,  that  exhaustless  reservoir  of  the  marvel- 
lous— that  fount.-iin  abundant  yet  mysterious,  like  "  the 
secret  head  of  Nilus,"  whence  so  many,  perhaps  all  the 
streams  of  fiction,  ultimately  derive,  has  been,  if  not  drain- 
ed, yet  defiled  by  the  foul  urns  that  have  too  often  of  late 
been  dipped  into  its  waters.  The  Middle  Ages  have  been, 
as  we  have  said,  occupied  by  the  "  Great  Magician  ;"  no- 
thing, therefore,  was  left  to  reader  and  writer  but  to 
search  for  novelty — that  Saint  Graal  of  our  modern  chiv- 
alry, the  chivalry  of  the  pen — in  the  nooks  and  shady 
spaces  of  private  life.  Here  a  new  vein  was  opened,  but 
this,  in  its  turn,  was  speedily  exhausted  ;  and  the  reader, 
after  descending,  by  a  gradual  declension,  from  the  lords 
and  ladies  of  the  once  "fashionable"  novel,  has  now 
"touched  the  very  base  string  of  humility,"  and  revels  in 
the  sordid  crimes  and  squalid  miseries  of  the  station-house, 
the  alley,  and  the  pawnbroker's  shop. 

We  have  said  that,  in  this  hum  after  new  scenes  and 
new  characters,  the  novelist  lias  penetrated  into  every 
country:  there  is  one  remarkable  exception.  While  the 
literature  of  every  land  has  been  laid  under  contribution, 
its  history  ransacked,  and  its  manners  daguerreoty'ped,  one 
nation  has  apparently  almost  altogether  escaped ;  and  this 
a  nation  by  no  means  inferior  to  many  others  in  the  wealth 
either  of  recollections  of  past  ages,  or  the  peculiarities  of 
social  and  political  constitution. 

How  happens  it  that  Russia,  an  empire  so  gigantic  in 
e.xtent,  and  so  important  a  member  of  the  great  European 
family — that  Russia,  with  her  reminiscences  of  two  cen- 
turies and  a  half  of  Tartar  dominion,  of  her  long  and 
bloody  struggles  with  the  Ottoman  and  the  Pole — whose 
territories  stretch  almost  from  the  arctic  ice  to  the  equator, 
and  whose  half  Oriental  diadem  bears  inscribed  upon  it 
such  names  as  Peter  and  Catharine — should  have  been 
passed  over  as  incapable  of  supplying  rich  materials  for 
fiction  and  romance  1 

If  the  hundred  nations  which  cover  so  vast  a  proportion 
of  the  globe,  from  the  dwarfish  hunter  of  the  Yenisei  to 
the  tawny  brigand  of  the  Caucasus,  could  offer  no  pecu- 
liarities of  manners,  no  wild  superstitions,  to  gratify  our 
ever-craving  curiosity  ;  assuredly  the  fierce  domination  of 
the  Golden  Horde,  the  plain  of  Polldva,  the  gray  Kreml  of 
Mother  Moscow,  and  the  golden  cupolas  of  N6vgorod  the 
Great,  might  be  expected  to  afford  something  interesting. 
•  It  is,  however,  no  less  singular  than  true,  that  with  the 
I  literature  and  manners  of  Russia,  the  English  public  is 
still  totally  unacquainted.  Little  has  hitherto  appeared 
iu  the  way  of  translation  from  the  Russian,  save  a  few 
miserable  scraps  and  extracts,  the  subjects  as  ill  selected 
as  the  versions  were  feebly  executed ;  some  of  these,  in- 
deed, were  not  made  from  the  original  language,  but  were 
manufactured  from  a  wretched  French  reckauffee  of  an 
equally  worthless  German  translation. 

It  is  obvious,  that  the  only  mode  by  which  we  can  ho|)e 
to  make  the  English  public  really  Well  acquainted  with 


f  their  brethren  of  the  North,  is  to  allow  the  latter  to  speak 
for  themselves.  Of  the  immense  number  of  travellers 
whom  ennui  or  curiosity  sends  forth  every  year  from  our 
shores  to  visit  foreign  countries,  a  very  small  proportion 
visits  Russia  ;  and  this,  for  obvious  reasons,  consists  chief- 
ly of  the  rich  and  noble  classes  of  society.  A  man  of  for- 
tune, travelling  "en  prince"  is  not  likely  to  lake  the 
trouble  of  acquiring  a  new  and  difficult  language,  solely 
for  the  purpose  of  studying  the  manners  and  feelings  of  the 
peasantry-^a  language,  too,  which  he  can  dispense  with ; 
,as  for  him  it  is  possible  to  travel  from  one  extremity  of 
the  empire  to  the  other  without  knowing  a  single  word  of 
it.  Besides  this,  Russian  is  emphatically  the  language  of 
the  lower  classes,  between  which  and  the  higher  ranks  a 
barrier  is  fixed,  more  insurmountable  than  one  accustomed 
to  the  subdivisions  of  English  society  can  conceive. 

The  great  distances  traversed  by  such  a^  traveller,  gen- 
erally in  a  limited  time ;  the  prejudices  and  superstitiong 
of  the  people  ;  the  habit,  till  of  late  years,  universal  among 
the  higher  classes,  of  using  the  French  language  as  a  me- 
dium of  comnmnication  with  each  other — all  this  tends  to 
increase  the  difficulty  of  a  foreigner's  attempt  to  make 
himself  acquainted  with  the  sentiments  and  character  of 
the  Russian  people. 

The  literature  of  this  country  has  often  been  reproached 
with  its  jwverty;  an  accusation  certainly  true  if  a  com- 
parison be  made  between  Russia  and  Western  Europe, 
but  considerably  exaggerated.  Comparatively  poor  it  un- 
deniably is :  it  contains,  however  much — both  prose  and 
poetry— that  would  possess  novelty  and  high  interest  to 
the  British  reader. 

The  indulgent — nay,  flattering — reception  met  with  by 
the  Translator  in  his  first  attempt  to  make  hiscountrymea 
acquainted  with  the  productions  of  the  Northern  Muse, 
has  encouraged  him  to  offer  the  present  work  in  an  Eng- 
lish dress. 

He  was  induced  to  select  this  romance  for  several  rea- 
sons :  it  is  the  work  of  an  author  to  whom  all  the  critics 
have  adjudged  the  praise  of  a  perfect  acquaintance  with 
the  epoch  which  he  has  chosen  for  the  scene  of  his  drama. 
Russian  critics,  some  of  whom  have  reproached  M.  La- 
jfitchnikoff  with  certain  faults  of  style,  and  in  particular 
with  innovations  on  orthography,  have  all  united  in  con- 
ceding to  him  the  merit  of  great  historical  accuracy — not 
only  as  regards  the  events  and  characters  of  his  story,  but 
even  in  the  less  important  matters  of  costume,  language, 
&c. 

This  degree  of  accuracy  was  not  accidental :  he  pre- 
pared himself  for  his  work  by  a  careful  study  of  all  the 
ancient  documents  calculated  to  throw  light  upon  the  pe- 
riod which  he  desired  to  recall — a  conscientious  correct- 
ness, however,  which  may  be  pushed  too  far;  for  the  (.si 
ginal  work  is  disfigured  by  a  great  number  of  obsolete 
words  and  expressions,  as  unintelligible  to  the  modern 
Russian  reader  (unless  he  happened  to  be  an  antiquarian) 
as  they  would  be  to  an  Englishman.  These  the  Transla- 
tor has,  as  far  as  possible,  got  rid  of,  and  has  endeavoured 
to  reduce  the  explanatory  foot-notes — those  "  blunder- 
marks,"  as  they  have  been  well  styled — to  as  small  a 
number  as  is  consistent  with  clearness  in  the  text. 

As  to  the  dialogue,  it  has  been  thought  best,  in  order  to 
preserve  that  air  of  antiquity — that  precious  <Ervgo  which 
gives  value  even  to  an  insignificant  coin — to  employ  that 
species  of  half  Elizabethan  dialect  so  happily  adopted  by 
Scott.  It  is  not,  |)erhaps,  chronologically  correct  (nor,  in- 
deed, is  it  so,  with  some  few  exceptions,  in  the  works  of 
the  Great  Romancer),  but  it  is  sufficiently  removed  from 
the  spoken  English  of  the  present  day,  to  assist  the  reader 
in  carrying  back  his  imagination  to  a  remote  period.  It  is 
easily  intelligible,  and  free  from  the  air  of  pedantry  with 
which  the  use  of  real  old  English — for  instance,  of  the 
fifteenth  century — would  be  chargeable. 

The  mode  by  which  the  Translator  has  essayed  to  ob  ■ 
tain  something  like  a  true  pronunciation  of  Russian  names 
and  words,  will,  he  hopfes,  be  found  worth  explanation. 
Most  of  the  ordinary  errors  in  this  point  arise,  firstly,  from 
the  .accent  not  being  indicated,  and,  secondly,  from  the 
absurd  and  capricious  manner  in  which  we  have  adopted 
I  the  French  and  German  versions  of  the  Russian  orthog- 
I  raphy.  Thus,  for  example,  the  names  of  Koutouzoff  and 
I  S(>uv6roff— names,  one  would  think,  of  sufficient  note  to 
I  deserve  a  true  pronunciation — have  been  transmogrified 
I  into  Cut-us-olfand  Suwarrow,  axd  subjected  to  divers  iia- 


337838 


IV 


THE   TRANSLATOR'S    PREFACE. 


it«emly  jests  on  their  appearance  when  thus  metamor- 
phrwpil. 

Tlie  French,  whom  thtir  national  self-complacency, 
and  Ihc  (it-ciili  irity  ot' llit-ir  proniinciaiion,  render  of  all 
n-itions  tlic  wr  rsl  ad.-iptcd  to  be  f:iiUiful  interpreters  of 
Boundit.  employed,  to  express  the  sound  of  the  Russian  v, 
not  their  own  v.  which  precisely  resembles  it,  but  bor- 
rowed from  the  (Jerman^'  the  letter  ic !  Mow,  w  is  cer- 
tainly pronounced  by  ihe  Teutonic  nnllons  like  our  r,  and 
in,  then-fore.  «ell  Hble  to  repreicnt  to  a  fierman  the  Rus- 
sian letter  in  question ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  the  le  is  a 
cuosonant,  of  whose  true  sound  the  French  have  no  iilca. 
To  atid  to  tills  confusion,  the  KnglUb,  wbose  pronuncia- 
tion of  the  letter  u>  differs  from  that  of  all  other  nations. 
ha%e  retalued  this  Frcnek  version  of  the  Gmnan-Rusf! 
The  conse<|uence  is,  that  a  Russian  nauie,  pronounced  by 
an  English  uuMiib,  would  oAen  be  unintelligible  lo  the 
x-ery  owner  of  the  appellation. 

These  errors  have  liad  (he  effect  of  cau<<in<;  what  in 
tbeinaelves  are  sounds  neither  difficiill  nor  uihuniionious, 
to  lio  reitarded  as  soaiulliing  ludicrously  complicated  and 
unpronounceable: 

••  Th»»kilful  (Title  iwljf  biiraes 

tiuxl,  icngh,  cnDk,gultunl,  lunh,  stid* Dunes." 

In  how  many  ways  may  we  see  the  word  Voevoda 
vrritten  ?  Woiwode.  W'aywod.  and  Heaven  knows  wliiit 
bcsldrs!  Boyann,  the  aii'<  ient  litle  of  nobility  in  Russitn. 
ii  decisional ly  boyar  or  Ixiynrd — why  there  should  be  a  </ 
at  the  end  of'ii,  a' Frenchman  alone  can  tell :  (lerhaps  the 
eiror  arose  from  some  foreiener,  ignorant  of  ihe  language, 
supposing  the  plural,  which  is  boyare,  to  be  the  singular, 
nnd  tliii^  |ier|)eiiiating  an  error  in  a  thousand  varied  fomis. 

It  is  surely  lime  to  correct  some  of  these  absurditie?,  tri- 
fling, indeed,  in  llieiii.<elves,  but  to  be  deprecated  when 
they  serve  to  discourage  the  reader,  and  lend  to  render  a 
niAle  and  manly  language  un|>npular. 

On  a  former  'occasion  we  ventured  to  sketcif  out  a  kind 
of  system  for  a  nenrer  approach  tu  a  true  pronunciation  of 
RiisMinn  words ;  and  we  have  found  no  reason  to  change 
the  few  nnd  simple  rules  we  then  gave.  We  shall  rc|)eal 
them  here  :  '■  Tlic  vowels,  a,  «,  i.  o,  y,  are  supposed  to  be 
pronounced  n«  in  French  ;  the  diphthong  ou  as  in  the 
word  you  ;  the  j  always  with  the  French  sound. 

"  \V  ith  respect  to  the  combinations  of  consonanL«,  k/i 
has  the  gnttiiral  sound  of  the  eh  in  the  Scottish  word  loch, 
and  eh  i.i  rather  like  a  rough  rir  coarse  aspirate. 

"The  simple  g  is  invariably  to  be  pronounced  hard  as  in 
^Mn  or  full. 

"  To  avoid  the  possibility  of  error,  the  combination  telt, 
though  not  a  very  soft  one  to  the  eye.  represents  a  Russian 
loiter  for  which  there  is  no  character  in  English ;  it  is,  of 
course,  ullered  as  in  the  word  tcaUh. 

"We  have  invariably  indicated  the  syllable  on  which 
the  stress  or  accent  is  to  fall." 

'I'he  e|M>ch  clnwen  by  I.uj6tchnikoffi»  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury; an  age  most  |iowerfully  interesting  in  the  liistory  of 
every  country,  and  not  less  so  In  th:it  of  Russia.  It  was 
then  that  the  wpirit  of  inquiry,  the  thirst  for  new  facts  and 
Investigalions  in  religious,  |)olitic8l,  and  physical  philoso- 
phy, wan  at  once  stimulated  and  gralilied  by  the  most  im- 
liortant  discoveries  that  man  had  as  yet  made,  and  extend- 
ed iLscIf  far  beyond  the  limits  of  what  was  then  civilized 
Europe,  and  upoke,  by  Ihe  powerful  voice  of  loAnn  III., 
oven  lo  Russia,  plunged  as  she  then  was  in  ignorance  and 
.supersiition.  Riido  a.s  nro  the  outlines  of  this  great  sover- 
eign's historical  jM>rtrail,  nnd  rough  as  were  the  means  by 
which  he  endeavoured  tr)  ameliorate  his  country,  it  is  ini- 
IMMaible  to  deny  him  a  place  among  those  rulers  who  have 
won  the  iiaiiic  of  benefactors  to  Iheir  native  land. 

Though  we  cannot  award  to  him  the  praise  of  the  war- 
rior,  pcrha|M  the  very  weakness  which  induced  him  to 
<^ho<>se,  ns  Ihe  Instruments  of  his  policy,  rather  the  ixjace- 
ful  nrb)  of  the  iliploniiitlsl  than  the  barbarous  violence  of 
Che  swoni— (K^rhaps  this  defect,  if  defect  it  be,  enabled 
hlin  to  give  a  more  .salutary  direction  to  Ihe  Infant  ener- 
gies of  his  country,     lie  wns  not,  it  Is  true— 
*•  Oiip  of  thffr  pnlent  ni«<lti>en,  who  keep  all 
Miukiml  iwake,  while  Ihejr,  by  Iheir  fml  deejt, 
Are  (Irumminic  l^^ril  ii|)an  thn  hnllnw  worlJ, 
Only  lo  oiake  a  tuunU  la  lut  torafeil" 
hut  In  silence  he  prepared  for  the  more  lasting,  if  less 
lirlllinnt,  triumphs  of  civili/ntlon  and  internal  improvement, 
it  wajt  by   him    thai    Riis<ii —  alternately  deluged   with 
blood,  |N>ured  forth  In  obscure  nnd  fniilless  contlicts,  and 
slumbering  In   sullen  exhnu»tion  till    ibi   resources  were 
again  repaired  for  fresh  struggles  wilb  inloriial  and  foreign 
focK— wn.s  Instructed  that  in  an  imperlectly  civilized  coun- 
try Is  nothing  but  a  fanlasllc  and  dangerous  meteor.     He 
laid,  as  far  as  human  wigncliy  could  lay.  Ihe  foundations 
of  a  solid  and  durable  cdltice — 

**  It  cenuf  indncilr.  r(  ditnertum  monlibu*  allii, 
Coin|wMuit,  legnque  deuti,  L«liiiinqiM  vocari 
Maliiil." 

That  this  .(liiii  e  was  »o  si>ecdily  to  fall  in  ruins  at  his 


death,  that  the  foreign  arts  he  planted,  and  so  sedulously 
fostered  in  the  snowy  soil  of  the  North,  were  to  be  with- 
ered by  the  flame  of  civil  war,  or  to  be  devoured  at  the 
root  by  the  secret  worm  of  barbarism  ;  that  the  code  of 
laws — the  Soudeknik — which  he  compiled,  was  so  soon 
to  be  .■substantially  if  not  formnlly  ubolished,  w,is  certainly 
more  than  mere  human  foresight  could  have  anticipated. 
The  ways  ot'  I'rovidence  are  inscrutable.  Il  can  be  no  re- 
proach to  Ir>ann's  sagacity  that  he  was  unable  to  prophesy 
that  his  throne  was.  afle*>a  short  interval,  lo  be  filled  by 
one  oi'  those  iiiunsters  whose  atrocities  almost  defy  the 
belief  uf  succeeding  ages,  and  which  force  us  to  have  re- 
course to  the  h\  (lothesis  of  tlieir  deeds  beiug  ratlier  tlie 
sympumis  of  insanity,  Ihim  the  capricious  extravagances 
of  mere  human  tyranny. 

Willi  M.  Lujetchnikuff's  mode  of  treating  the  principal 

]  figure  in  his  canvass — the  slem  yet  not  unattruciive  por- 

I  trair  of  ioann — we  think  that  none  of  his  English  readers 

will  be  dLsiKk-ed  to  find  fault.    The  inferior  personages  in 

Ins  drama  are,  for  the  iiioet  part,  faithful  sketches  from 

.  the  rude  likenesses  executed  by  the  old  chroniclers— those 

I  .'Vlbcrt  Diirers  of  history,  whoi-'e  rugged  but  vigorous  strokes 

often  anticipate  and  surp.'us  the  luore  smooth  and  elabo- 

I  rale  touches  of  succeeding  arrists. 

I      Of  Aphanasii  Nikitia  it  is  necessar>-  to  mention  that  he 
'■  is  no  fictitious  character:  his  account  of  his  wanderings 
:  over  many  lands,  particulariy  the  East,  is  still  extajitand 
,  is  a  work  of  extreme  interest,  not  only  as  being'tbe  pro- 
duction of  the-  earliest  Russian  traveller,  and  curiously 
coloured  by  the  peculiarities  and  prejudices  of  his  age  and 
nation,  but  as  being,  in  fact,  one  of  the  earliest  records  of 
a  traveller's  journey  in  those  remote  countries.    Some 
[  poriions  of  this  curious  itinerary,  M.  Laj,jtchnikuff  has  not 
iiiiskilfiilly  interwoven  in  his  romance. 

None  of  our  English  readers  who  have  visited  Moscow 
will,  we  think,  fail  lo  find  some  interest  in  Fioraventi 
,  .-Vrisloile,  the  architect  of  the  cathedral  in  the  Kreml — a 
work  siill  rcniaining  in  a  perfect  stale  of  preservation; 
and  remarkable,  nol  only  from  the  thnusiuid  associations 
att'ichcd  to  a  building  in  which  so  many  of  the  Rus.sian 
Tsars  have  been  crowned,  but  also  as  a  specimen  of  style 
of  architecture  singul.iriy  interesting  in  iiself,  and  the 
most  striking  examples  of  which  are  only  to  be  found  ia 
'  Constantinople,  in  Venice,  and  in  Russia. 

With  these  brief  remarks  we  shall  conclude  our  intro- 
duction ol'  iM.  Liijetchnikolf  lo  the  British  public,  leaving 
I  him,  like  Gines  de  Pusumonte,  to  draw  up  his  curtain  and 
set  his  puppets  in  motion.  We  (latter  ourselves,  that  if 
the  eloquence  and  spirit  of  his  dialogue  suffers  in  tlie 
hands  of  his  interpreter,  the  substance  of  it  has  been  ren- 
{  dered  ^vilb  fidelity. 

The  reader  wjll  remark  in  the  mottoes  prefixed  to  the 
ch^ipters,  and  also  treqiienlly  occurring  in  the  body  of  the 
rouiaace,  short  passages,  sometimes  with  rhymed  ternii- 
naiions,  and  an  apparently  irregular  metrical  arrange- 
ment, which  he  may,  pcrha|)s,  take  for  unsuccessful  at- 
teuipls  at  rhyme.  They  are,  however,  the  first  essay 
hitherto  made  to  give  any  idea  in  Englisti  of  the  tone  and 
.structure  of  Ihe  ancient  national  poetry  of  the  Russian 
people.  However  irregular  tlioy  may  seem,  tliey  are 
verses,  and  are  governed  by  a  peculiar  system  of  versifi- 
cation. Of  their  "  metrical  canons,"  it  may  be  wurlli 
while  to  give  some  notion  in  this  place. 

They  are  not  necessirily  rhymed ;  indeetf  rhvme  is,  in 
many  cases,  held  to  be  a  defect.  The  principal"  thing  ne- 
cessary to  please  the  Russian  ear  in  this  kind  of  com|H>si- 
tiou,  is  a  regular  recurrence  of  accents.  This  the  Trans- 
lator has  indicated  by  a  mark  placed  over  the  syllabic  on 
which  the  stress  is  laid  in  singing ;  for  they  are  essential- 
ly songs,  and  meant,  like  all  poetry  of  a  very  ancient  char- 
acter, to  be  sung.  Ur.  Bowring,  in  his  ••  Russian  Anthol- 
ogy," has  given  versions  of  several  specimens  of  liiese  sin- 
gular compositions;  but  without  venturing  to  retain  tlieir 
metrical  form — in  our  opinion,  the  most  curious  |iecuUar- 
ity  they  (lossess.  We  ho|)e  that  our  boldness,  in  attempt - 
lug  to  give  them  both  in  dress  and  in  substance,  will  be 
rewarded  with  approbation. 

The  only  circumstance  to  which  we  think  it  neccssnry 
to  call  our  reader's  attenlion,  is  the  frequent  employment, 
in  the  dialogue,  of  phrases  which  have  the  sententious 
form,  and  fre4|ucntly  the  jingle,  of  jirovcrbs  and  old  saws. 
As  these,  re|ioated  from  tradition,  or  invented  extempore, 
colour,  in  a  great  measure,  Ihe  ancient  language  of  Rui- 
sla,  and  are  still  very  iH-rceptible  in  the  dialogue  of  the 
lower  classes,  the  Translator  has  thought  it  his  duly  to  re- 
lulu  them,  however  strange  may  be  their  effect  lo  nn  Eng- 
lish eye.  They  are  national  and  characlerislic,  and  have, 
at  least,  the  merit  of  signifying  something — an  advantage 
not  always  [HWBessed  by  the  "  be  chcsms,"  "  m.ishallahsi" 
and  "  bunil  fnihcrs,"  so  plentifully  strewn  over  ihe  pages 
of  most  modern  "Orienlal"  novels. 

THOMAS  B.  SHAW. 
Turkoe  Scio,  Au^l  ^^,  ISt3. 


THE    HERETIC. 


PROLOGUE. 
"With  the  blessing  of  God,  rejoice  and  hfiil,  our  good 
Lord  and  Son,  Great  Prince  Dinitrii  IVi\novitcli,  of  all 
Russia  ....  many  years!" — Words  of  the  Primate  at 
the  ceremony  of  the  Coronation  of  Dmitrii  Iviinovitch, 
grandson  of  lodnn  III.,  as  Great  Prince. 

It  was  the  27th  of  October,  1505.  As  if  for 
the  coronation  of  a  Tsar,  Moscow  was  decorated 
and  adorned.  The  Cathedral  of  the  Assump- 
tion, the  Church  of  the  Annunciation,  tlie  Stone 
Palace,  the  Tower  Palace,  the  Krenil  with  its 
towers,  a  multitude  of  stone  churches  and 
houses,  scattered  over  the  city — all  this,  just 
come  out  of  the  hands  of  skilful  architects,  bore 
the  stamp  of  freshness  and  newness,  as  if  it  had 
risen  up  in  one  day  by  an  almighty  will.  In 
reality,  all  this  had  been  created  in  a  short  time 
by  the  genius  of  loann  III.  A  person  wlio,  thirty 
years  back,  had  left  Moscow,  poor,  insignificant, 
resembling  a  large  village,  surrounded  by  ham- 
lets, would  not  have  recognized  it,  had  he  seen 
it  now ;  so  soon  had  all  Russia  arisen  at  the 
single  manly  call  of  this  great  genius.  Taking 
the  colossal  infant  under  his  princely  guardian- 
ship, he  had  torn  off  its  swaddling  bands,  and 
not  by  years,  but  by  hours,  he  reared  it  to  a 
giant  vigour.  N6vgorod  and  Pskoff,  which  had 
never  vailed  their  bonnet  to  mortal  man,  had 
yet  doffed  it  to  him,  and  had  even  brought  him 
the  tribute  of  liberty  and  gold  :  the  yoke  of  the 
Khans  had  been  cast  off,  and  hurled  beyond  the 
frontiers  of  the  Russian  land  ;  Kaz^n,  though 
she  had  taken  covert  from  the  mighty  hunter, 
yet  had  taken  covert  like  the  she-wolf  that  has 
no  earth — her  territories  had  melted  away,  and 
were  united  into  one  immense  appanage  ;  and 
the  ruler  who  created  all  this  was  the  first  Rus- 
sian sovereign  who  realized  the  idea  of  a  Tsar. 

Nevertheless,  on  the  27th  of  October  1505, 
the  Moscow  which  he  had  thus  adorned  was 
preparing  for  a  spectacle  not  joyful  but  melan- 
choly, loann,  enfeebled  in  mind  and  body,  lay 
upon  his  death-bed.  He  had  forgotten  his  great 
exploits ;  he  remembered  only  his  sins,  and  re- 
pented of  them. 

It  was  towards  the  evening-tide.  In  the 
churches  gleamed  the  lonely  lamps  ;  through  the 
mica  and  bladder  panes  of  the  windows  glim- 
mered the  fires,  kindled  in  their  houses  by  faith 
or  by  necessity.  But  nowhere  was  it  popular 
love  which  had  lighted  them  ;  for  the  people 
did  not  comprehend  the  services  of  the  great 
man,  and  loved  him  not  for  his  innovations.  At 
one  corner  of  the  prison,  the  Black  Izba,*  but 
later  than  the  other  houses,  was  illumined  by 
a  weak  and  flickering  light.  On  the  bladder, 
which  was  the  substitute  for  glass  in  the  win 


*  /zfid— properly  a  cottage  built  of  logs  laid  horizontal 
!y  on  one  another,  but  anciently  employed,  generally,  in 
the  sense  of-  house."  "  Black  Izbi"— a  dwelling  of  the 
meanest  kind ;  so  called  from  the  absence  of  a  chimney 
rendering  the  walls  black  with  smoke.— T.  B.  S. 


dow,  the  iron  grating,  with  its  spikes,  threw  a 
net-like  shadow,  which  was  only  relieved  by  a 
speck,  at  one  moment  glittering  like  a  spark,  at 
another  emitting  a  whirling  stream  of  vapour. 
It  was  evident  that  the  prisoner  had  made  this 
opening  in  the  bladder,  in  order,  unperceived  by 
his  guards,  to  look  forth  upon  the  light  of 
heaven. 

This  was  part  of  the  prison,  and  in  it  even 
now  was  pining  a  youthful  captive.  He  seemed 
not  more  than  twenty.  So  young  !  What 
early  transgression  could  have  brought  him 
here  1  From  his  face  you  would  not  believe  in 
such  transgressions  ;  you  would  not  believe  that 
God  could  have  created  that  fair  aspect  to  de- 
ceive. So  handsome  and  so  noble,  that  you 
would  think,  never  had  one  evil  intention  passed 
over  that  tranquil  brow,  never  had  one  passion 
played  in  those  eyes,  filled  with  love  to  his 
neighbour  and  calm  melancholy.  And  yet  by 
his  tall,  majestic  figure,  as  he  starts  from  his 
reverie,  and  shakes  his  raven  curls,  he  seems  to 
be  born  a  lord,  and  not  a  slave.  His  hands  are 
white  and  delicate  as  a  woman's.  On  the 
throat  of  his  shirt  blazes  a  button  of  emerald  ; 
in  the  damp  and  smoky  izba,  on  a  broad  bench 
against  the  wall,  are  a  feather-bed  with  a  pillow 
of  damask,  and  with  a  silken  covering  ;  and  by 
the  bedside  a  coffer  of  white  bone  in  filigree 
work.  Evidently  this  is  no  common  prisoner. 
No  common  prisoner ! — no,  he  is  a  crowned 
prince !  .  .  .  and  pure  in  thought  and  deed  as 
the  dwellers  of  the  skies.  All  his  crime  is  a 
diadem,  which  he  did  not  seek,  and  which  was 
placed  on  his  head  by  the  caprice  of  his  sov- 
ereign ;  in  no  treason,  in  no  crime  had  he  been 
accomplice ;  he  was  guilty  by  the  guilt  of 
others — by  the  ambition  of  two  women,  the  in- 
trigues of  courtiers,  the  anger  of  his  grandfather 
against  others,  and  not  against  him.  They  had 
destined  him  a  throne,  and  they  had  dragged 
him  to  a  dungeon.  He  understood  not  why 
they  crowned  him,  and  now  he  understands 
not  why  they  deprived  him  of  liberty — of  the 
light  of  heaven— of  all  that  they  deny  not  even 
to  the  meanest.  For  him  his  nearest  kinsman 
dared  not  even  pray  aloud. 

This  was  the  grandson  of  Ivan  III.,  the  only 
child  of  his  beloved  son — Dmitrii  Ivanovitch. 

At  one  time  he  sat  in  melancholy  musing, 
resting  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  losing  his 
fingers  in  the  dark  curls  of  his  hair  ;  then  he 
would  arise,"  then  lie  down.  He  was  restless 
as  though  they  had  given  him  poison.  No  one 
was  with  him.  A  solitary  taper  lighted  up  his 
miserable  abode.  The  stillness  of  the  izba  was 
disturbed  only  by  the  drops  from  the  ceiling,  or 
the  mice  nibbling  the  crumbs  that  had  fallen 
from  the  captive's  table.  The  little  light  now 
died  away,  now  flared  up  again ;  and  in  these 
flashes  it  seemed  as  though  rows  of  gigantic 


THE   ftfill"ETIC. 


spiders  crept  along  the  ^&1L  .  lo  reslit^;  tljege 
were  scribblings  in  various' la ftguagts,  scrawled 
with  charcoal  or  wiih  a  nail.  Hardly  was  it 
possible  to  spell  out  among  tliem — "  Matheas," 
"  Marpha,  posadnilza  of  Novgorod  the  Great," 
"  Accursed  be"  ....  "licbc  fHutter,  licbe  ©" 
.  .  .  . ;  and  still  several  words  more,  half  oblit- 
erated by  the  damp  which  had  trickled  along 
the  wall,  or  been  scratched  out  by  the  anger  or 
the  ignorance  of  the  guards. 

The  door  of  the  dungeon  softly  opened.  Dmi- 
trii  Iv&novitch  started  up.  "  Aph6nia,  is  it 
Ihou  !"  he  joyfully  enquired  ;  but  seeing  that 
he  had  mistaken  for  another  the  person  who 
entered,  he  exclaimed  sadly — "  Ah,  it  is  thou, 
Nebogalii  !  Why  comelh  not  Aph6nia  !  I  am 
sad,  I  am  lonely,  I  am  devoured  by  grief,  as  if  a 
serpent  lay  at  my  heart.  Didst  thou  not  say 
thai  Aphonia  would  come  as  soon  as  they  lighted 
the  candles  in  the  houses  1" 

'•  Aph&nasii  Nikilin  hath  a  mind  as  single  as 
his  eye,"  said  the  deacon  Dmitrii  Nebogitii,  a 
kind  and  good-natured  oflicer,  yet  strict  in  the 
performance  of  the  charge  given  him  by  the 
Great  Prince,  of  guarding  his  grandson.  -(We 
may  remark,  that  at  this  time  he,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  illness  of  Umitrii,  the  trea.surer 
and  groom  of  the  bedchamber,  fulfilled  tlieir 
duties.  All  honour  to  a  prince,  even  though  he 
be  a  prisoner  I) 

"  Make  thyself  easy,  Dmitrii  Iv&novitch  ; 
soon,  be  sure,  will  come  our  orator.  Thou 
wottest  thyself  he  groweth  infirm,  he  see'th  not 
well,  and  so  must  grope  along  the  wall ;  and 
till  he  Cometh,  my  dear  child,  play,  amuse  thy- 
self with  thy  toys.  Sit  down  cozily  on  thy  bed  ; 
I  will  give  thee  thy  coffer." 

And  Dmitrii  Ivanovitch,  a  child,  though  he 
was  more  than  twenty  years  old,  to  escape 
from  the  weariness  that  oppressed  him,  instant- 
ly accepted  the  proposition  of  his  deacon,  sat 
down  with  his  feet  on  his  bed,  took  the  ivory 
box  upon  his  knees,  and  opened  it  with  a  key 
that  hung  at  his  girdle.  By  degrees,,  one  after 
the  other,  he  drew  out  into  the  light  a  number 
of  precious  articles  which  had  been  imprisoned 
in  the  cofler. 

The  young  prince  held  up  to  the  fire,  now  a 
chain  of  gold  with  bears'  heads  carved  on  the 
Imks,  or  a  girdle  of  scaly  gold,  then  signet-rings 
of  jacinth  or  emerald,  then  crucifixes,  collars, 
bracelets,  precious  studs  :  he  admired  them, 
threw  lilt;  collars  round  his  neck,  and  asked  the 
deacon  whcilicr  they  became  him  ;  took  orient 
pearls  ami  rubies  by  the  handful,  let  them  stream 
like  rain  through  his  fingers,  amused  himself  in 
playing  with  them,  like  an  absolute  child— and 
suddenly,  hearing  a  voice  in  the  neiglibouriiig 
chamber,  threw  them  all  back  any  how  into  the 
coffer.     His  face  lighted  up. 

"  'Tis  Aph6nia  !"  he  cried,  giving  back  the 
box  to  the  deacon,  and  descending  from  the 
bed. 

"  Lock  it,  Dmitrii  Iv6novilch,"  said  Nebop6tii 
firmly  ;  "  without  that  I  will  not  receive  it." 

Hastily  clinked  the  key  in  the  cofTer ;  the 
door  opened,  and  there  entered  the  izb&  an  old 
man  of  low  stature,  bowed  down  by  the  burden 
of  years  ;  the  silver  t)f  his  hair  was  already  be- 
coming golden  with  age.  From  the  top  of  his 
head  to  the  corner  of  his  left  eye  was  deeply 
gashed  a  scar,  which  had  thus  let  full  an  eter- 


nal curtSin  before  that  eye,  and  therefore  the 
other  was  fixed  in  its  place,  like  a  precious 
stone  of  wondrous  water,  for  it  gUttered  with 
unusual  brilliancy,  and  seemed  to  see  for  itself 
and  for  its  unfortunate  twin  brother.  No  son 
more  affectionately  meets  a  tenderly  beloved 
father,  than  Dmitrii  Ivanovitch  met  the  old 
man.  Joy  sparkled  in  the  eyes  of  the  Tsare- 
vitch,  and  spoke  in  his  every  gesture.  He  took 
his  guest's  walking-staff,  shook  from  his  dress 
the  powdered  snow,  embraced  him,  and  seated 
him  in  the  place  of  honour  on  his  bed.  Never- 
theless, the  guest  was  no  more  than  Aphanasii 
Nikitin,  a  merchant  of  Tver,  a  trader  without 
trade,  without  money,  poor,  but  rich  in  know- 
ledge, which  he  had  acquired  in  an  adventurous 
journey  to  India,  rich  in  experience  and  fan- 
cies, which  he  knew  how  to  adorn  beside  with 
a  sweet  and  enchanting  eloquence.  He  lived 
on  the  charity  of  his  friends,  and  yet  was  no 
man's  debtor :  the  rich  he  paid  with  his  tales, 
and  to  the  poor  he  gave  them  for  nothing.  He 
was  allowed  to  visit  the  Great  Prince  Dmitrii 
Ivanovitch,  (whom,  however,  it  was  forbidden 
to  call  Great  Prince.)  We  may  judge  how  de- 
lightfully he  filled  up  the  dreadful  solitude  of 
the  youth's  imprisonment,  and  how  dear  he 
therefore  was  to  the  captive.  And  what  did 
Dmitrii  give  him  for  his  labour  1  Much,  very 
much  to  a  good  heart, — his  delight,  the  only 
pleasure  left  him  in  the  world — and  this  reward 
the  Tveritchanin*  would  not  have  exchanged 
for  gold.  Once  the  Tsarcvitch  had  desired  to 
present  him  with  one  of  the  precious  articles 
from  his  ivory  box  ;  but  the  deacon  gently  re- 
minded the  captive,  that  all  the  articles  in  his 
coffer  were  his,  that  he  might  play  with  them 
as  much  as  he  pleased,  but  that  he  was  not  at 
liberty  to  dispose  of  them. 

The  day  before  Aphanasii  Nikitin  had  begun 
a  tale  about  the  "  Almat/ne,"  surnamed  the  Here- 
tic. To-day,  when  he  had  seated  himself,  he  con- 
tinued it.  His  speech  flowed  on  like  the  song  of 
the  nightingale,  which  we  listen  to  from  the  flush 
of  morning  till  the  glow  of  eve,  without  shutting 
our  eyes  even  for  a  moment.  Greedily  did  the 
Tsarevitch  listen  to  the  story-teller,  his  cheeks 
burned,  and  often  tears  streamed  from  his  eyes. 
Far,  very  far  he  was  borne  away  from  his  dun- 
geon, and  only  from  time  to  time  the  rude  brawl- 
ing of  the  guards  behind  the  partition-wall  re- 
called him  to  bitter  reality.  In  the  mean  time  the 
deacon  Nebogitii's  pen  was  hurriedly  scratching 
along  the  parchment :  the  sheets,  pasted  one  to 
another  in  a  long  line,  were  fast  covered  with 
strange  hieroglyphics,  and  wound  up  into  a  huge 
roll.  He  was  writing  down  from  Aphinasii 
Nikitin's  mouth,  ,1  talc  touching  a  certayne  Al- 
mayne,  surnamed  the  Heretic. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  tale,  there  rush- 
ed into  the  dungeon  the  dvoretzkiit  of  the  Great 
Prince.  "  Ivfin  Vassilievitch  is  about  to  render 
up  his  soul  to  God,"  said  he,  hastily  ;  "  he 
grieveth  much  about  thee,  and  hath  sent  for 
thee.     Make  haste  !" 

The  prince  was  convulsively  agitated.  Over 
his  face,  which  became  white  as  a  sheet,  passed 


•  In  Riissin,  designations  of  p)er8ons  from  their  native 
counlrv  hnvu  the  tcmiiiintioi*  in  ,-  ax,  .\nglitch&nin,  ait 
Encli'iiinnn  ;  Tveritchinln,  a  native  of  Tver. 

t  J>rortUkii—a  (;rcal  orticcr  of  the  |>alace  (dvoriti)  in 
the  court  of  ihc  ancient  Tsars. 


THE  HERETIC. 


some  thought ;  it  flashed  in  his  eyes.  Oh,  this 
was  a  thought  of  paradise !  Freedom  ....  a 
crown  ....  the  people  ....  mercy  ....  per- 
haps a  block  ....  what  was  there  not  in  that 
thought  ?  The  captive— the  child  who  had  just 
been  playing  with  jewels— arose  the  Great 
Prince  of  all  Russia. 

Ivin  was  still  a  sovereign,  though  on  his  dying 
bed  ;  death  had  not  yet  locked  for  ever  his  lips, 
and  those  lips  might  yet  determine  on  his  suc- 
cessor. The  thoughts  of  another  life,  remorse, 
an  interview  with  his  grandson,  whom  he  had 
himself  of  his  own  free-will  crowned  Tsar,  and 
whom  they  had  just  brought  from  a  dungeon — 
what  force  must  these  thoughts  have  on  the  will 
of  the  dying  man  ! 

They  gave  the  prince  his  bonnet,  and  just  as 
he  stood,  conducted  by  the  deacon  and  other 
officers,  he  hastened  to  the  Great  Prince's  pal- 
ace. In  the  hall  he  encountered  the  sobbing  of 
the  kinsmen  and  servants  of  the  Tsar.  "  It  is 
over  ! — my  grandsire  is  dead  !"  thought  he,  and 
.his  heart  sank  within  him,  his  steps  tottered. 

The  appearance  of  Dmftrii  Ivanovitch  in  the 
palace  of  the  Great  Prince,  interrupted  for  a 
time  the  general  lamentation,  real  or  feigned. 
The  unexpectedness,  the  novelty  of  the  object, 
the  strange  fate  of  the  prince,  pity,  the  thought 
that  he,  perhaps,  would  he  the  sovereign  of  Rus- 
sia in  a  moment,  overwhelmed  the  minds  and 
hearts  of  the  courtiers.  But  even  at  this  period 
there  were  among  the  long-beards  some  wise 
heads :  acute,  far-sighted  calculations,  which 
we  now  call  politics,  were  then  as  now  oracles 
of  fate,  and  though  sometimes,  as  happens  even 
in  our  own  days,  they  were  overthrown  by  the 
mighty  hand  of  Providence. 

These  calculations  triumphed  over  the  mo- 
mentary astonishment ;  the  tears  and  sobbing 
began  again,  and  were  communicated  to  the 
crowd.  Only  one  voice,  amidst  the  expressions 
of  simulated  woe,  ventured  to  raise  itself  above 
•  them:  "Haste,  my  lord,  our  native  prince— 
thou  hast  been  sent  for  no  short  time — Ivan 
Vassilievitch  is  yet  alive— the  Lord  bless  thee, 
and  make  thee  our  Great  Prince  !" 

This  voice  reassured  the  youth  ;  but  when  he 
was  about  to  enter  the  bed-chamber  where  the 
dying  man  lay,  his  strength  began  to  fail.  The 
door  opened  ;  his  feet  seemed  nailed  to  the 
threshold.  Ivan  had  only  a  few  minutes  feft  to 
live.  It  seemed  as  if  death  awaited  only  the 
arrival  of  his  grandson,  to  give  him  his  dis- 
missal. Around  his  bed  stood  his  sons,  the 
primate,  his  favourite  boyarins,  his  kinsmen. 

"  Hither — to  me,  Dmitrii — my  dear  grand- 
son," said  the  Great  Prince,  recognising  him 
through  the  mists  of  death. 

Dmitrii  Ivanovitch  threw  himself  towards  the 
bed,  fell  upon  his  knees,  kissed  the  cold  hand 
of  his  grandsire,  and  bedewed  it  with  his  tears. 
The  dying  man,  as  if  by  the  power  of  galvanism, 
raised  himself,  laid  one  hand  on  his  grandson's 
head,  with  the  other  blessed  him,  then  spoke  in 
a  breathless  voice  :  "  I  have  sinned  before  God 
and  thee  ....  Forgive  me  ...  .  forgive  .... 
The  Lord  and  I  have  crowned  thee  ....  be 
....  my  .  .  .  ." 

The  face  of  Vassilii  loannovitch  was  con- 
vulsed with  envy  and  fear.  Yet  one  word 
jnore  .... 

But  death  then  stood  on  the  side  of  the  strong- 


est, and  that  word  was  never  pronounced  in 
this  world.  The  Great  Prince  Ivan  Vassilie- 
vitch yielded  up  his  last  breath,  applying  his 
cold  lips  to  the  forehead  of  his  grandson.  His 
son,  who  had  been  earlier  designated  by  him  as 
his  heir,  immediately  entered  into  all  his  rights. 
They  tore  Dmitrii  from  the  death-bed,  led  him 
out  of  the  Great  Prince's  palace,  and  conducted 
him  back  to  his  dungeon.  There,  stretched  on 
his  bed,  was  reposing  Aph6nia  in  the  deep  slum- 
ber of  the  just.  Having  bewailed  his  woes,  the 
ill-fated  Dmitrii  lay  down  beside  the  old  man. 
Prince  and  peasant  were  there  equal.  The  one 
dreamed  that  night  of  royal  banquets,  and  of  a 
glorious  crown,  glittering  like  fire,  upon  his 
head,  and  of  giving  audience  to  foreign  ambas- 
sadors, and  reviewing  vast  armies.  The  other 
— of  the  hospitable  palm  and  the  rivulet  in  the 
deserts  of  Arabia.  The  poor  man  awaked  the 
first,  and  how  was  he  surprised  to  find  the 
Tsar^vitch  by  his  side !  Mournfully  he  shook 
his  hoary  head,  and  wept,  and  was  about  to 
bless  him,  when  he  heard  the  joyful  gallant  cry 
of  Dmitrii  Ivanovitch  as  he  dreamed—"  War- 
riors !  ....  on  the  Tartars !  ....  on  Lithua- 
nia !..  .  ." 

And  immediately  awoke  the  young  prince. 
Long  he  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  gazed  around 
him,  and  then,  falling  on  Aphonia's  bosom,  he 
melted  into  tears.  "  Ah  !  father,  father,  I  have 
been,  dreaming"  .... 

His  words  were  strangled  by  sobs. 

Soon  all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard  in  the 
palace  of  the  Great  Prince  began  to  appear  to 
him  as  a  dream.  Only  when  he  recalled  to  his 
memory  that  weary  vision,  he  felt  on  his  fore- 
head the  icy  seal  which  had  been  placed  on  it 
by  the  lips  of  the  dying  Tsar. 

The  winter  came :  all  was  as  before  in  the 
Black  Izba  :  nothing  but  the  decorations  of  the 
scene  had  changed ;  the  uniform  sound  of  the 
falling  drops  was  dumb,  the  bright  speck  had 
vanished  from  the  bladder  window-pane  :  in- 
stead, a  silvery  film  of  frost  adhered  to  the  cor- 
ners of  the  walls  and  the  crevices  of  the  ceiling, 
and  the  bright  speck,  through  which  the  captive 
could  see  the  heavens,  with  their  sun  and  free 
birds,  was  veiled  with  a  thick  patch.  But  Apho- 
nia, as  of  old,  visited  the  dungeon.  He  had  fin- 
ished his  tale  of  the  Almayne,  whom  they  called 
the  Heretic,  and  the  scribe  Nebogatii,  putting  it 
on  paper  word  for  word,  had  placed  the  roll  in 
his  iron  chest — an  amusement  for  his  descen- 
dants. 

Thus  passed  a  little  more  than  three  years. 

The  royal  prisoner  was  no  longer  in  his  dun- 
geon, and  Aphanasii  Nikitin  was  seen  no  more 
within  it.  Assuredly  Dmitrii  Ivanovitch  had 
been  set  at  liberty.  Yes,  the  Lord  had  set  him 
free  from  all  earthly  bonds.  Thus  writes  an 
annalist:  "In  the  year  1509,  on  the  14th  of 
February,  departed  this  life  the  Great  Prince, 
Dmitrii  Ivanovitch,  in  prison."  Gerberstein 
adds  :  "  It  is  thought  that  he  was  starved— with 
cold  or  with  hunger— to  death,  or  stifled  with 
smoke." 

This  prologue  requires  explanation.  Here  it 
is :  In  the  year   1834,  in  the  government  of 

S ,  were  put  up  to  auction  the  estates  of 

one  of  Catharine's  great  nobles.  A  rich  old 
hbrary,  in  which  (as  I  was  assured  by  credible 


THE    HERETIC. 


people)  were  to  be  found  historical  treasures, 
was  sold  in  detail  to  any  body  who  chose  to  bid. 
Hastening  to  the  spot,  I  threw  myself  upon  the 
plunderers,  in  order,  by  force  of  gold,  to  snatch 
from  them  some  rarity  which  they  could  not 
appreciate.  Vain  hope !  I  was  too  late.  A 
great  part  of  the  library,  they  told  me  for  my 
consolation,  had  come  into  the  possession  of  a 

butcher  of  .S ,  who  was  selling  the  books  by 

the  bale,  by  weight.*  I  rush  to  him,  and  re- 
ceive for  answer,  that  all  the  volumes  are  al- 
ready sold  to  different  people.  "There  are  the 
remains,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  heap  of  bindings 
and  worm-eaten  rolls  ;  "  look  them  over,  you 
may  find  something  to  your  taste." 

With  trembling  greediness  I  set  to  work  :  I 
bury  myself  in  du.st  and  scraps  of  paper  .... 
Here  is  nothing,  there  as  much,  further  on 
trash  !  Again  to  search  .  .  .  again  I  plunged 
into  them  ....  Time  flies.  The  butcher  sta.es, 
and  ihmks  me  crazy  ....  At  last  (O,  my  bless- 
ings up<in  his  dwelling!)  I  unroll  one  worm- 
oaten  .MS  ,  pushed  aside  by  the  forces  of  the 
literary  empire  to  the  yery  cwnerof  the  garret. 
The  title  is  attractive — "  A  Talc  tochyng  a  cer- 
tayne  Almayne,  surnamcd  y'  Heretick"  I  read 
the  text — a  treasure  !  I  turn  over  the  ragged 
leaves  wiih  the  caution  of  a  surgical  operator. 
In  the  heart  of  the  roll  is  an  Italian  manuscript ; 
in  It  the  names  are  the  same  as  in  the  Russian 
.M.S.,  with  the  addition  of  some  new  ones,  for 
the  greatest  part  those  of  foreigners  :  the  hero 
of  the  story  is  the  same  in  both.  It  was  evi- 
dently written  by  a  person  contemporary  and 
acquainted  with  him.  The  relation  breathes  a 
remarkable  affection  for  him,  and  elevated  sen- 
timents. In  the  tiilepage  are  only  the  words— 
"In  memory  of  my  frund  Antonio."  This  I 
managed  hastily  to  glance  through  in  the 
strange  archives  o.*"  Uie  butcher.  I  cannot 
conceal  my  rapture;  and,  in  the  heat  of  my 
joy,  I  offer  the  bearded  shopkeeper  the  finest 
lo  that  he  might  pick  out  of  my  herd.  The  bar- 
gain is  struck  at  once  :  I  carry  home  the  roll, 
trembling  for  its  delicate  existence  ;  I  turn  over 
il.<.'  leaves  of  the  Russian  MS.,  as  if  they  were 
the  petals  of  some  rare  flower  ready  to  fall. 
Hardly  do  I  succeed  in  rescuing  from  destruc- 
tion the  ha^f  of  it.  The  Italian  manuscript  is 
in  a  sounder  condition.  Out  of  the  two  I  have 
composed  •'  The  Tale  of  the  Heretic,"  filling  up 
from  history  the  interstices  produced  by  destruc- 
tive time 

"  A  trick  of  the  novelist !"  cry,  perhaps,  some 
of  my  fair  or  gentle  readers  ;  "  a  trick  to  inter- 
est us  the  more  in  his  production  !" 

Believe  or  not,  my  right  worshipful  sirs,  and 
you,  most  dearest  of  the  dear,  perhaps  most 
fairest,  ladi<;s  ,— say  what  you  please,  that  I 
wrote  this  preface  simply  with  the  aim  of  pre- 
senting you  with  a  picture  of  Moscow,  re-edi- 
fied and  decorated  by  the  great  Iv6n-a  picture 
which  could  not  be  introduced  in  mv  novel :  I 
cannot  refute  you.  You  may  sav  that  I  have 
done  this,  desiring  to  find  a  placis  somewhere 
for  the  romantic  and  inlcresting  character  of 
Dmitrii  Iv&novitch,  which  eould  not  have  found 
room  in  the  first  plan  of  the  romance,  already 

•  A  fiicl !  The  new  s  of  ihiti  mcrlflcc  re.ichcd  even 
.Mosrow,  nnd  Ihe  bibliomanes  of  thr  rflpllnl  cntrpntcd  me 
t<i  dWcovcT  whether  «>nip  hislorlcnl  mritlcii  might  not  l>c 
found  at  Die  bulcher's.— AVJe  of  the  Author. 


occupied  by  another  personage  ;  and  in  the  sec- 
ond, it  could  find  no  room  either  ; — you  may 
add,  that  I,  in  consequence  of  this  necessity, 
imagined  the  discovery  of  the  manuscripts. 
Say  just  what  you  please :  I  cannot  give  you 
ocular  demonstration  ;  I  am  unable  to  prove  on 
paper  the  justice  of  my  deductions,  and  there- 
fore I  am  innocently  guilty — I  am  ready  to  un- 
dergo your  judgment.  What  is  to  be  donel  It 
is  not  the  first  time  that  tale-tellers  are  accused 
of  deception.  Some  one,  I  think,  has  said, — 
"  If  the  deception  resembles  truth,  and  is  liked, 
then  the  tale  is  very  good."  This  is  no  subject 
for  the  researches  of  the  historical  police. 
Neither  do  I  pretend  to  justify  two  or  three  an- 
achronisms as  to  years,  seasons  of  the  year,  or 
months,  committed  in  filling  up  the  intervals  of 
the  manuscripts.  They  were  intentional — this 
is  easy  to  be  seen.  To  point  them  out  in  notes 
I  considered  superfluous :  it  is  sufficient  to  turn 
to  any  history  of  Russia  to  discover — for  in- 
stance, that  the  reduction  of  Tver  took  place 
in  autumn,  and  not  in  summer  ;  that  such  and 
such  an  event  happened  in  different  years  ;  that 
the  punishment  of  the  heretics  was  at  N6vgo- 
rod,  and  not  at  Moscow.  I  leave  it  to  children 
to  seek  out  the  voluntary  and  involuntary  sins. 
Such  anachronisms  (remark,  not  in  the  customs, 
in  the  character  of  the  time)  I  can  never  con- 
sider as  transgressions  in  the  historical  novel- 
ist. He  must  follow  rather  the  poetry  of  histo- 
ry than  its  chronology.  His  business  is  not  to 
be  the  slave  of  dates ;  he  ought  to  be  faithful 
to  the  cliaracter  of  the  epoch,  and  of  the  dra- 
matis persona  which  he  has  selected  for  repre- 
sentation. It  is  not  his  business  to  examine 
every  trifle,  to  count  over  with  servile  minute- 
ness every  link  in  the  chain  of  this  epoch,  or  of 
the  life  of  this  character  ;  that  is  the  depart- 
ment of  the  historian  and  the  biographer.  The 
mission  of  the  historical  novelist  is  to  select 
from  them  the  most  brilliant,  the  most  inter- 
esting events,  which  are  connected  with  the 
chief  personage  of  his  story,  and  to  concentrate 
them  into  one  poetic  moment  of  his  romance. 
Is  it  necessary  to  say  that  this  moment  ought 
to  be  pervaded  by  a  leading  idea  1  .  .  .  .  Thus  I 
understand  the  duties  of  the  historical  novelist. 
Whether  I  have  fulfilled  them,  is  quite  another 
question. 


CHAPTER  I. 


IN   BOHEMIA. 

"  O,  it  swilled  ever  luringly 
O'er  the  in^'nds,  tlie  spring  ris-ulet ; 
And  it  VAto  nw.iy,  liired  nwiiy, 
'i'lie  fair  Ii4l>y  from  its  iii6ther'8   anna. 
She  was  loft  iilone,  that  iu6ther  sad. 
On  tho'stcop  liank,  ilie  dftrkred  hank  ; 
She  will  cry  nloiid.  < »,  so  m6iirnfully  ! 
U  return  to  iiie,  durlini;  one  I 

O  rci&rn,  my  lM.'16veU  one!" 

Old  SoHg. 

Do  you  know,  gontle  reader,  where  the 
White  Mountain  is  !  If  you  do  not,  I  will  tell 
you  ;  it  is  in  Bohemia,  near  the  frontiers  of  Sax- 
ony     Thither  I  will  now  convey  you. 

There,  at  no  groat  distance  from  the  moun- 
tain, loomed,  ttirough  the  grey  twilii;ht  of  an 
autumnal  evening,  a  tower  on  the  hank  of  the 
Elbe  :  it  was  newly  washed  in  a  shower  which 
had  just  cleared  off.     From  two  windows,  or 


THE    HERETIC. 


rather  two  narrow  slits  in  the  thick  wall,  glim- 
mered a  light,  illuminating  their  small  diamond 
panes,  and  throwing  its  dancing  flash  and  shade 
far  along  the  bosom  of  the  river.  'Twas  a 
wild  night !  Not  a  sparklet  in  the  wide  heavens 
— not  a  single  streak  of  white  to  harbinger  the 
dawn.  The  darkness  looks  immeasurable  in 
its  vast  gloom — the  night  seems  as  though  it 
would  have  no  end.  The  blast  appears  to  be 
struggling  to  force  an  entrance  into  the  tower, 
"  and  shrieks  like  an  evil  spirit  as  it  wrestles 
with  its  time-worn  battlements.  The  yelling 
of  the  wind  is  repeated  by  the  long  howl  of  the 
wolves  in  the  surrounding  thickets.  The  river, 
lashed  by  the  blast,  seems  to  bend  its  current 
sideways  to  the  bank,  and  to  besiege  the  foot 
of  the  tower,  as  though  eager  to  batter  it  with 
its  waves. 

Within  the  tower  all  is  still.  Nothing  is  heard 
but  the  plaintive  swelling  and  falhng  of  the 
wind,  fitfully  playing  with  the  bars  of  the  win- 
dow its  wild  and  mournful  harmonies.  The 
large  chamber  is  dimly  lighted  by  a  pile  of  wooj 
blazmg  on  the  hearth  ;  all  around  indicates 
simplicity,  not  to  say  poverty.  Nothing  is  vis- 
ible in  the  way  of  decorations  but  a  number  of 
elks'  horns  and  weapons  suspended  upon  the 
walls.  With  the  head  resting  upon  the  back 
of  a  tall  old  chair,  reclines  the  'faded  form  of 
an  aged  woman,  whose  features,  though  bear- 
ing the  livid  traces  of  severe  illness,  and 
stamped  by  the  track  of  sorrow  and  suffering, 
prove  that  in  her  youth  she  must  have  been 
lovely.  Gloomy  and  painful  thoughts  from 
time  to  time  appeared  to  chase  each  other 
across  that  face,  and  her  soul  seemed  swelling 
with  tears  which  hope  or  patience  had  retained 
within  their  source.  The  old  woman  was  ev- 
idently the  mistress  of  the  tower — a  tower  that 
had  once  been  a  castle.  At  some  distance  from 
her  is  placed  a  hoary-headed  old  man,  her  re- 
tainer, seneschal,  castellan  ;  one  of  those  fig- 
ures which  it  is  impossible  to  gaze  at  without 
becoming  better  and  more  benevolent — without 
feeling  yourself  elevated  nearer  to  heaven. 
Where  such  old  men  dwell,  there,  we  may  be 
assured,  dwells  God's  blessing.  At  one  mo- 
ment, seated  on  a  three-legged  stool,  he  strug- 
gles with  drowsiness,  then  arises  and  proceeds 
to  arrange  the  fire,  then  listens  by  the  door.  In 
the  midst  of  the  deep  winter  embodied  in  the 
faces  of  these  two  persons,  has  bloomed  a  ver- 
nal flower — a  maiden  of  sixteen.  By  her  dress, 
her  place  in  the  recess  of  the  hall,  we  must 
take  her  for  a  servant.  She  sits  spinning  on  a 
low  bench,  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  fire.  On  her 
pretty  face,  too,  deep  anxiety  is  expressed.  At 
the  least  noise  behind  the  door,  her  hands  drop 
the  thread,  and  her  eyes  turn  enquiringly  to  the 
portal.  Nothing  breaks  the  stillness  of  the 
chamber  but  the  low  buzzing  of  the  spinning- 
wheel,  and  the  plaintive  howl  of  the  wind,  im- 
ploring to  be  let  in  through  the  casement. 

It  is  night,  but  the  inhabitants  of  the  poor 
castle  do  not  sleep  !  They  are  evidently  expec- 
ting some  one. 

Suddenly  there  rose  the  long  note  of  a  horn, 
and  that  seemed  to  be  struggling  with  the  blast. 
None  heard  it  but  the  girl. — "  Father,"  she  said, 
breaking  her  thread  in  her  agitation,  "  Yakoubek 
is  come." 

The  retainer  arose  to  his  full  height.    The 


old  woman,  raising  her  head  from  the  back  of 
her  chair,  lifted  to  heaven  her  eyes,  which  were 
full  of  tears.  All  was  expectation  in  the  cham- 
ber. 

Again  the  horn  sounded,  but  in  a  shriller  and 
livelier  tone  than  before;  and  this  time  it  was 
plainly  heard  above  the  troubled  blast.  In 
tense  anxiety  was  expressed  on  the  faces  of  all. 
The  girl's  bosom  seemed  to  heave. 

"  Why  dost  thou  not  show  him  a  light,  Yan  1" 
said  the  old  woman. 

"  I  am  stupified  with  joy,  lady  baroness," 
replied  the  retainer,  hastening  to  liglit  at  the  , 
fire  the  wick  of  an  iron  lamp,  which  the  maidea 
had  handed  to  him  in  the  mean  time.  But  the 
new-comer,  it  seemed,  was  no  laggard.  The 
door  opened,  and  tliere  entered  the  room  a 
young  man  of  twenty,  good-looking  and  active. 
With  a  glance  of  love  to  the  girl,  a  respectful 
obeisance  to  the  Baroness  Ehrenstein,  (such 
was  the  name  of  the  lady  of  the  poor  castle.) 
he  threw  his  drenched  hat  and  large  wide-top- 
ped gloves  at  the  feet  of  his  beloved ;  and,  un- 
slinging  the  horn  from  his  shoulders,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  unbuckle  the  buff-coat  which  defended 
his  breast.  *" 

"Is  all  vi'ell'!"  enquired  the  baroness  with  a 
trembling  voice  ;  and,  but  for  fear  of  degrading 
her  birth,  she  would  have  cast  herself  on  the 
neck  of  the  messenger. 

"  God  be  praised,  my  gracious  lady  !  God  be 
praised  !  I  bring  a  thousand  salutations  from 
my  young  master,"  replied  the  new-comer ; 
"but  the  night  is  as  dark  as  a  wolf's  throat: 
you  ride,  and  ride,  and  come  full  drive  against 
a  branch  or  a  stump  ;  and  there  are  swarms  of 
evil  spirits  in  the  cross  roads  of  the  White 
Mountain,  where  a  traveller  has  lately  been 
murdered.  They  try  to  get  up  behind  you  on 
your  horse's  crupper,  and  ride  with  you.  One 
of  them  almost  drove  me  right  into  the  Elbe."j 

The  old  retainer  shook  his  head,  intimating 
that  the  youth  was  talking  nonsense. 

"  You  should  have  said  an  ave  to  our  Lady 
ot  Loretto,"  interrupted  the  baroness. 

"  'Twas  nought  but  an  ave  to  our  Lady  that 
saved  me  from  a  ducking :  but  for  your  orders 
to  come  back  with  speed,  I  would  have  only- 
accompanied  my  young  master ;  and  but  (here 
he  looked  lovingly  at  the  girl)  for  my  desire  to 
please  you,  by  bringing  you  tidings  of  him,  I 
would  have  slept  at  the  last  village.  But  rain, 
rain  !  it  poured  by  buckets-full." 

"  Poor  Yakoubek !  you  must  be  drenched  to 
the  skin,"  said  the  baroness  :  "  warm  yourself 
at  the  fire,"  she  was  going  to  continue ;  but 
seeing  him  take  from  his  bosom  a  neat  folded 
paper"  wrapped  round  with  green  silk,  and 
sealed  with  wax,  she  could  only  exclaim— "A 
letter  from  him  /" 

With  trembling  hands  she  seized  the  mis- 
sive, and  pressed  it  to  her  withered  bosom  ; 
then  she  gazed  at  it  admiringly,  and  put  it  back 
into  her  breast. 

Why  did  she  not  hasten  to  open  the  precious 
letter  !  Why  ^  Because  the  baroness  could  not 
read.  (Observe,  this  was  at  the  end  of  the  fif- 
teenth century.) 

Yakoubek  then,  with  a  joyful  face,  delivered 
to  his  mistress  a  well-crammed  purse,  for  which 
he  had  been  feeling  all  about  his  dress. 

"  Such  a  good  young  master !"  said  he,  giving, 


10 


THE    HERETIC. 


up  his  charge  :  "  he  feared  more  on  my  account 
than  for  the  money.  Such  a  kind  man  !  Yet 
)lie  will  not  let  himself  be  trampled  on.  How 
-ihe  knightly  blood  speaks  in  him,  though  he  is 
le " 

Here  Yan  could  no  longer  restrain  himself;  he 
twitched  the  speaker  so  sharply  by  the  sleeve, 
that  he  made  him  bite  his  tongue.  In  the  mean 
time,  the  baroness  held  the  purse,  and  wept 
Bilcntly  as  she  gazed  on  it.  What  a  sad  tale 
jnight  have  been  read  in  those  tears,  if  any  one 
could  have  translated  them  into  words  !  Then, 
recovering  herself,  she  wiped  her  eyes,  and  be- 
gan to  question  Yakoubek  as  to  how  her  son  had 
arrived  at  Lipetsk  ;  for  all  her  care  was  about 
liim,  what  he  had  done  there,  how  and  with 
whom  he  had  begun  his  journey. 

Yakoubek  only  awaited  these  questions  to  let 
loose  his  tongue. 

"We  went  on  safe  and  sound,"  he  began, 
"  till  wc  came  to  a  pine-forest,  as  thick  and 
'■*]ark  as  an  old  boar's  bristles.  Some  ill-looking 
•rascals  showed  us  the  white  of  their  eyes ;  but 
"ve  were  in  force,  and  could  have  given  them  as 
•good  as  they  brought,  anj^  we  showed  them  no- 
thing but  our  horses'  tails.     Then"  .... 

The  terrified  baroness  began  to  listen  more 
eagerly. 

""At  a  hostflrj',  a  cursed  hostess — and  the 
she-cat  was  young  too — gave  us  some  ham,  be- 
lieve mc,  gracious  lady,  as  rusty  as  the  old  hel- 
mets in  the  armory  !  My  young  master  could 
not  eat  it,  and  swallowed  a  morsel  of  biscuit, 
-washed  down  with  water  ;  but  I  was  fool  enough 
to  take  a  mouthful  of  the  ham,  and  even  now 
the  very  recollection  makes  me"  .... 

"Talk  sense,  Yakoubek,"  angrily  interrupted 
the  old  retainer  .  "  if  you  go  on  chattering  such 
nonsense,  your  tale  will  be  longer  before  it  comes 
to  an  end  than  the  Danube." 

"  Let  the  youth  talk  as  he  likes,  whatever 
comes  uppermost,"  said  the  baroness,  to  whom 
the  least  det  ailsabout  her  beloved  son  were  in- 
teresting. 

"Thank  ye,  Master  Yan  !"  cried  the  youth, 
confused,  with  a  bow  to  the  old  retainer  ;  many 
thanks  for  correcting  a  clown.  But  you  lived 
in  the  time  of  the  late  baron"  .... 

At  the  word  "late,"  a  slight  quivering  passed 
over  the  lips  of  the  baroness.  "  You  have  lived 
in  great  cities  ;  you  have  seen  the  Emperor  and 
fit.  Stephen's  church,  and  you  are  as  chary  of 
your  words  as  if  they  were  rose-nobles  ;  but  this 
is  the  first  time  since  I  was  born  that  I  have 
been  to  Lipetsk— ah,  what  a  town  I"  Then  re- 
collecting himself,  he  shook  his  head,  and  vva- 
ved  his  hand  as  if  to  drive  away  a  fly.  "  But  1 
am  wasting  foolish  words,  as  if  they  were  cop- 
])er  skillings  :  then,  you  see,  gracious  lady,"  he 
continued,  turning  to  the  old  woman,  "  we  got 
on  prosperously  ;  only  on  the  road  his  honour 
«lid  nothing  but  grieve  for  you,  and  was  perpet- 
ually l)egging  and  enjoining  me :  '  Look  ye, 
Yakoubek,  serve  my  mother  faithfully  and  zeal- 
ously, as  if  you  were  her  own  children  :  if  I  gel 
rich,  I  will  not  forget  you.  As  to  Van,'  he  Con- 
tinvied,  '  I  am  not  afraid  about  him  ;  the  old 
man,  I  am  convinced,  would  lay  down  his  life 
for  her,  (a  tear  sparkled  on  Van's  eyelashes, 
•while  a  smile  pa.ssed  over  Ins  lips  ;)  but  you  are 
young.'  He  always  said  'you;'  he  must  have 
jaeant    .  .  .  hm  I  if  thou  wilt  let  me  speak  Mas- 


ter Yan  ;  .  .  .  .  then  he  bowed,  looking  very  ten- 
derly at  the  girl.  Blushing  like  a  crimson  pop- 
py, she  pretended  to  be  searching  for  something, 
rummaged  about,  and  then  quitted  the  room,  as 
if  to  look  for  it. 

"  I  can  guess  that  riddle,"  said  the  baroness, 
in  a  kind  voice  :  "Antony  meant  Lioubousha." 

"  .My  kind  young  master  I"  continued  the 
youth  ;  "  he  did  not  forget  me  ...  .  and  on  the 
road  to  Lipetsk,  and  when  he  was  leaving,  he 
advised  me:  'Do  not  forget,  Yakoubek.  Tell 
my  mother  that  I  promised  to  marry  you.  My 
mother  and  our  good  Yan  will  certainly  not  re- 
fuse me.' " 

"  I  have  long  ago  given  you  my  blessing,  my 
good  friends.     What  says  the  father!" 

"  I  have  no  son  ;  you  shall  be  a  son  to  me  !" 
said  the  old  man  ;  "only  I  will  not  give  you  my 
blessing  till  you  have  told  us  all  the  news  of  our 
young  lord  without  any  additions  about  yourself" 

Yakoubek  almost  leaped  for  joy  :  he  ventured 
respectfully  to  kiss  the  baroness's  hand ;  he 
kissed  Yan  on  the  shoulder,  then  assuming  a 
grave  air,  as  though  he  had  mounted  the  cathe- 
dra, he  continued  his  account  of  young  Ehren- 
stein.  "  At  Lipetsk  we  were  expected — we  I — 
I  mean  to  say  his  honour  ....  we  reached  the 
house.  Lord  !  thought  I,  does  not  the  king  at 
least  live  here  !  Clap  ten  such  towers  as  this 
in  a  row,  they  would  not  make  such  a  house. 
If  you  look  up  at  the  chimneys,  your  hat  falls 
off;  if  you  go  in,  you  lose  your  way,  as  if  you 
were  in  an  unknown  forest.  The  rooms  were 
ready.  Soon  after,  the  Muscovite  ambassador 
came  to  my  young  lord,  shook  him  by  the  hand, 
and  spoke  to  him  very  affably.  He  said  that  his 
sovereign  would  be  very  glad  to  receive  his  hon- 
our, young  master,  and  would  raise  him  to  great 
favour,  dignity,  and  wealth.  My  master  hardly 
understood  a  word  of  what  the  ambassador  said 
to  him  ;  it  was  all  translated  by  an  Italian  who 
had  lived  in  Muscovy.  But  I  did  not  let  slip  a 
word,  except  now  and  then  a  hard  one,  not  like 
our  speech.  The  ambassador  spoke  something 
like  Tchekh  (Bohemian.)  I  thought  to  myself, 
perhaps  he  has  learned  Tchekh  :  but  no  !  his 
servant  spoke  the  same  tongue  as  himself,  so, 
thinks  I,  that  must  be  Muscovite  speech.  Says 
the  ambassador  to  young  master ;  '  The  Tchekhs 
and  Muscovites  are  the  sons  of  one  mother,  but 
have  been  divided  by  wars.'  So,  thinks  I,  I 
could  easily  turn  interpreter"  .... 

"Thou  forgettest,"  interrupted  Yan  with  a 
smile,  "  that  an  interpreter  must  understand  the 
tongue  of  the  person  for  whom  he  is  translating. 
Dost  thou  see!" 

"  To  be  sure.  What  a  blockhead  I  am  !  ... . 
For  instance,  the  ox  and  the  sheep  want  to 
speak  together ;  I  understand  the  sheep-lan- 
guage, and  the  sheep  understand  me ;  but  I 
don't  understand  ox-language,  and  here  we  stick 
in  the  mud." 

The  baroness  could  not  help  smiling  at  this 
illustration. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Yan,  "  first  finish  what 
you  have  to  say  about  young  master,  and  then 
you  may  go  a  wool-gathering  as  much  as  you 
please." 

"  Do  not  frighten  yourself,  Master  Yan. 
Though  I  look  aside  now  and  then,  I  still  stick 
to  the  young  baron's  skirts." 

"  Thou  didst  not  call  him  Baron  on  the  road^" 


THE   HERETIC. 


II 


said  the  old  woman  with  an  anxious  look.  "  That 
"was  strongly  forbidden." 

"I  will  not  lie,  gracious  lady.  Once  my 
tongue  did  make  a  slip.  I  inadvertently  dis- 
obeyed you.  The  word  dropped  from  my 
tongue  ;  but  I  corrected  myself  in  a  twinkling  : 
'  Do  not  think,'  said  I  to  him,  '  that  I  call  you 
baron  because  you  are  one :  I  call  you  so  be- 
cause the  Tchekhs  and  Germans  call  all  their 
masters  baron;  I  imitate  them  from  habit.  In 
the  same  way  we  call  your  mother  baroness,  as 
■we  love  her.'  No,  no  !  I  am  no  fool :  when  I 
fall  into  a  scrape,  I  want  no  one  else  to  help  me 
out." 

"Thanks,  Yakoubek !  well,  what  happened 
to  you  at  Lipetsk  1" 

■"  Why,  then  they  brought  my  young  master 
a  heap  of  skins  of  animals  from  the  ambassa- 
dor. Muscovite  beasts,  such  as  martens  and 
squirrels — and  they  piled  up  a  mountain  of  them 
in  the  room.  All  this  was  a  kind  of  earnest 
from  the  Great  Prince,  the  interpreter  said. 
'What  are  we  to  do  with  thisV  said  young 
master  ;  but,  before  the  words  were  out  of  his 
mouth,  the  merchants  came  flocking  up  like 
hungry  wolves  that  have  snifTed  a  carrion,  and 
began  to  chaffer.  After  all,  they  laid  a  heap  of 
gold  and  silver  on  the  table,  and  took  away  the 
skins.  My  young  master  kept  only  a  few  ;  he 
has  sent  you  a  dozen  martens,  and  bestowed  a 
dozen  squirrel-skins  on  me.  'These  are  for 
thy  bride,'  he  said,  '  for  winter  clothing.'  Then 
came  the  driver,  who  was  to  take  him — a  Jew" 


"A  Jew  !"  exclaimed  the  baroness,  clasping 
lier  hands,  and  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven. 
"  Holy  Virgin,  shelter  him  beneath  thy  merci- 
ful protection  !  Angels  of  the  Lord,  drive  far 
from  him  every  evil  spirit !" 

"  I  myself  did  not  much  like  that  an  unbe- 
lieving Jew  should  drive  my  young  master ; 
l)ut,  when  matters  were  cleared  up,  my  heart 
was  relieved.  The  driver  hardly  looked  at 
him,  before  he  threw  himself  down  and  kissed 
the  skirt  of  his  mantle.  '  Thou  art  my  bene- 
factor, my  preserver,'  he  said.  '  Dost  thou  not 
remember  at  Prague,  when  the  schoolboys  were 
setting  savage  dogs  at  me]  Their  fangs  were 
in  me ;  you  threw  yourself  upon  them,  you 
killed  them  with  your  dagger,  and  chastised  the 
boys.  I  can  never  forget  your  benevolence ; 
when  I  do,  may  the  God  of  Jacob  and  the  God 
of  Abraham  forget  me  !  In  Moscow  I  have 
powerful  friends,  men  of  consequence.  Speak 
but  the  word  ;  I  am  at  your  service.  Dost  thou 
want  money  1  Say— Zacharias,  T  want  so 
much,  and  I  will  bring  it  to  you.  I  will  walk 
softly,  I  will  not  breathe,  that  they  may  not  see, 
may  not  hear,  that  you  had  it  from  a  Jew.'  I 
understood  not  his  words  ;  I  only  saw  the  Jew- 
beat  his  breast,  and  then  again  begin  kissing  the 
skirt  of  my  lord's  mantle  ;  but  young  master 
afterwards  translated  it  all  to  me  word  for  word, 
that  I  might  relate  it  to  you.  'My  mother  will 
be  less  anxious  when  she  hears  this,'  he  said  ; 
'  I  believe  Zacharias,  he  will  not  deceive  me. 
Besides,  the  ambassador  answered  for  him  :  he 
is  well  known  at  Moscow,  and  all  believe  him 
to  be  an  honest  man.  Through  him,  too,  I  can 
write  to  my  mother.'  At  last  they  assembled 
for  the  journey  :  they  were  a  great  many  go- 
ing.    There  were  all  sorts  of  workmen,"  (a 


slight  blush  passed  over  the  face  of  the  baron- 
ess,) "  men  who  cast  things  in  copper,  and  those 
who  build  stone  churches ;  I  could  never  tell 
you  all.  They  took  their  seats  on  the  carriages. 
I  accompanied  my  master  out  of  the  town.  He 
again  repeated  his  injunctions  to  serve  you 
faithfully,  zealously,  as  he  would  serve  you 
himself;  and  repeated  this  a  hundred  times. 
At  a  short  distance  from  the  town  his  carriage 
stopped.  Then  he  condescended  to  embrace 
me.  'Will  God  let  us  meet  again?'  he  said, 
and  wept.  His  last  words  were  all  about  you. 
The  carriage  went  on — he  still  stood  up  in 
front,  and  long  nodded  his  head,  and  waved 
his  hand,  as  though  begging  me  to  salute  you. 
I  did  not  stir  from  my  place  ;  but  he  went — my 
dear  master — went  further  and  further,  till  he 
disappeared.  I  felt  as  if  my  heart  would  break. 
I  longed  to  call  him  hack,  I  longed  to  kiss  his 
hand  once  more.  He  was  gone  !  Had  it  not 
been  for  you  and  Lioubousha,  with  the  blessing 
of  God,  I  would  not  have  remained  here." 

Yakoubek  could  not  go  on  :  tears  prevented 
him  from  speaking.  The  mother  sobbed ;  the 
retainer  wept.  One  would  have  thought  that 
all  the  three  had  just  returned  from  the  funeral 
of  a  dear  friend.  Long,  almost  all  night,  did 
the  inhabitants  of  the  poor  castle  remain  awake  ; 
long  did  they  talk  of  the  young  Ehrenstein.  At 
length  the  baroness  retired  to  her  bed-chamber, 
ordering  Yan  to  fetch  Father  Laurence  to  her 
in  the  morning.  This  was  a  deacon  of  the 
neighbouring  Moiavian  brotherhood  ;  the  confi- 
dential reader  of  her  correspondence.  The 
morning  came,  and  Father  Laurence  read  to 
the  baroness  the  following  letter  from  her  son : — 

"  Dearest  Mother, 

"I  hasten  to  inform  you  that  I  am  safely 
arrived  at  Lipetsk.  I  am  well  and  happy — as 
happy  as  a  son  can  be,  separated  from  a  mother 
whom  he  tenderly  loves.  Do  not  accuse  me 
of  being  visionary.  A  love  for  science,  for  my 
fellow-creatures,  and  no  less  the  hope  of  being 
useful  to  you,  have  induced  me  to  take  this 
step.  You  yourself  have  blessed  my  enterprise, 
kind,  dearest  mother  ! 

"  At  Lipetsk  the  Russian  ambassador  was 
already  awaiting  us.  He  did  not  disappoint 
me  ;  but  gave  me  without  delay  the  considerable 
sum  which  you  will  receive  by  Yakoubek.  It 
is  but  for  you  that  I  value  money — that  I  may 
comfort  your  old  age.  The  favour  of  the  Mus- 
covite king,  which  his  envoy  gives  me  the  hope 
of  obtaining,  w-ill  enable  me  to  be  still  more 
useful  to  you  hereafter. 

"  With  what  pleasure  did  I  hear  the  first 
sounds  of  the  Muscovite — or,  as  it  is  otherwise 
called  Russian  language  !  With  still  greater 
pleasure  did  I  learn  that  it  is  related  to  our 
own.  Already  I  comprehend  a  good  deal  of 
the  conversation  of  the  envoy  with  whom  I  am 
going.  I  am  sorry  that  I  do  not  understand 
Tchekh  better.  I  hope,  at  my  arrival  in  Mos- 
cow, soon  to  learn  to  speak  Russian  ;  this  will 
iTiake  my  new  acquaintance  more  disposed  to 
love  me.  I  already  like  them,  as  descended 
from  the  same  race. 

"  As  to  the  request  which  Yakoubek  will 
make  to  you,  grant  it  for  my  sake  and  for  his. 

"  Prizing  your  parental  blessing  above  all 
things,  I  prepare  myself  for  my  long  journey  ; 


THE   HERETIC. 


tlial  blessing,  with  your  image,  is  in  my  heart. 
I  kiss  your  hands  a  thousand  limes. — Your  du- 
tiful son,  *'  Antony  Ehkenstein." 

Many  times  was  Father  Laurence  compelled 
to  read  this  letter — each  time  it  was  bedewed 
with  tears,  and  pressed  to  the  mother's  heart. 
The  first  days  of  separation  were  killing  to  her  : 
every  where  she  wandered  about  the  former 
haunts  of  her  beloved  son,  figuring  to  herself 
that  she  might  meet  him.  The  things  that  he 
had  left  behind  him  she  gazed  at  with  a  kind 
of  reverence  :  it  was  forbidden  for  any  one  to 
sit  down  in  the  chair  that  Antony  had  ordinari- 
■  ly  used  at  dinner,  or  even  to  move  it  from  its 
place.  This  was  not  permitted  even  to  Father 
Laurence :  a  flower  pluckad  by  Antony  on  the 
last  day  before  his  departure  was  placed,  like  a 
holy  thing,  on  the  leaf  of  the  manuscript  Bible 
at  which  he  had  ceased  reading.  In  his  room 
all  was  allowed  to  remain  in  the  same  order  as 
when  he  had  left  it.  Sometimes  the  aged 
mother  stole  thither  to  sit  on  the  dear  wander- 
er's bed  and  weep.  No  complaint  to  Heaven — no 
repining  :  she  followed  him  only  with  daily  and 
nightly  prayers  for  his  health  and  happiness. 
But  the  wanderer  was  departing  ever  further 
and  further  ;  yet  long  he  beheld  the  blue  sky  of 
his  native  land — that  sky  in  which  it  was  so  de- 
lightful to  plunge  the  soul ;  the  mountains  and 
rocks  wildly  and  fantastically  relieved  against 
it  ;  the  silver  spangling  of  the  winding  Elbe  ; 
the  spiry  poplars  standing  like  sentinels  of  the 
shore  ;  the  flowery  clusters  of  the  wild  cherry- 
trees,  which  peered  boldly  in  at  the  windows 
of  his  chamber ;  oltener  still  he  saw,  in  dream 
or  reverie,  the  trembling  withered  hand  of  his 
mother  stretched  above  him  in  benddiction. 

We  know  that  Antony  was  the  son  of  the 
Baroness  Ehrcnstein.  We  will  say  more  : — 
his  father  was  living,  rich,  powerful,  occupying 
an  important  ofllce  at  the  court  of  the  Emperor 
fVedrick  IIL  ;  but  at  the  poor  castle,  this  is  a 
secret  known  to  none  but  old  Yan  and  the  bar- 
oness. The  other  inhabitants  of  the  tower — 
Antony  himself— considered  him  to  be  dead. 
But  why  so,  wherefore,  in  what  capacity,  did 
young  Antony  go  to  Russia? 

Antony  was  a  physician. 

The  son  of  a  baron  a  physician  ?  .  .  .  Strange! 
wonderful !  How  reconcile  with  his  profession 
the  pride  of  the  German  nobility  of  that  day  1 
To  judge  what  the  baron  must  have  felt,  we 
must  remember  that  at  this  period  physicians 
»  were  for  the  most  part  Jews,  those  outcasts  of 
humanity,  those  Pariahs  of  society.  In  «uir  own 
time,  and  not  far  back,  in  enlightened  countries 
they  have  begun  to  speak  of  them  as  men — 
they  have  begun  to  assign  them  a  fixed  station 
in  the  civic  family  ;  but  how  were  they  looked 
npon  in  the  fifteenth  century,  when  the  Inqui- 
sition was  established,  burning  them  and  the 
Moors  by  thousands  ]  when  even  Christians 
were  burned,  quartered,  strangled  like  dogs,  for 
being  Christians  according  to  the  theory  of 
Wicliffe  and  of  lluss,  and  not  according  to  the 
canon  of  a  Pius  or  a  Sixtus  I  The  rulers  per- 
secuted the  Jews  with  fire,  sword,  and  anallie- 
ma  ;  the  populace,  enraged  against  them  by  re- 
ports that  they  stole  children  and  drank  their 
blood  on  Easter-day,  avenged  on  them  one  iin- 
agiuary  crime  by  real  ones  a  hundiedfold  grea- 


ter. They  thought  God's  light,  the  air  of  heav- 
en, defiled  by  their  breath,  their  impure  eyes  ; 
and  hastened  to  rob  them  of  God's  light,  of  the 
air  of  heaven.  Hangmen,  armed  with  pincers 
and  razors,  even  before  the  victims  reached  the 
place  of  execution,  ripped  and  tore  the  skin  from 
their  bodies,  and  then  threw  them  mangled  in- 
to the  fire.  The  spectators,  without  waiting 
till  they  were  consumed,  dragged  the  horrid 
remnants  from  the  pile,  and  trailed  the  tatters 
of  humanity  through  the  streets,  bloody  and 
blackened,  cursing  over  them.  To  prolong,  if 
hut  for  a  time,  their  miserable  existence,  the 
Jews  undertook  the  most  diflicult  duties :  to 
avoid  Scylla,  they  threw  themselves  headlong 
into  Charybdis.  The  profession  of  leech  was 
then  one  of  the  most  perilous  :  we  may  guess, 
that  a  great  number  of  these  involuntary  phy- 
sicians deceived  many  with  their  involuntary 
science,  or  were  paid  with  interest  for  their 
cheats  and  ignorance.  Did  the  patient  depart 
into  the  other  world  ] — they  sent  the  physician 
after  him.  One  example  will  suffice  :  it  is  a 
remarkable  one.  The  leech  Pietro  I.£oni  of 
Spoletto,  having  exhausted  all  the  resources  of 
his  art  on  the  dying  Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  gave 
him  as  a  last  experiment  a  powder  of  pearls  and 
precious  stones.  This  did  no  good.  Lorenzo 
the  Magnificent  started  off  for  ever  to  that 
bourne,  for  which  the  non  magnificent  also 
must  set  off.  What  became  of  Leoni !  The 
friends  of  the  defunct  did  not  hesitate  long  : 
they  killed  the  leech  without  delay,  or,  as  oth- 
ers say,  so  tortured  him,  that  he  threw  himself 
into  a  well,  to  avoid  new  agonies.  How  many, 
then,  of  these  martyrs  must  have  perished  ob- 
scurely, not  deserving  the  mention  of  the  anna- 
list ]  After  all  this,  a  non-Jew  must  have  pos- 
sessed great  self-denial,  and  great  devotion  to 
science  and  humanity,  to  dedicate  himself  to 
the  profession  of  medicine. 

Judge,  then,  what  the  baron  must  have  felt 
on  seeing  his  son  a  leech. 

How  then,  why,  wherefore,  did  this  come  to- 
pass  1 


CHAPTER  IL 

THE     REVENGE. 

"...  If  e'er  my  sleeping  foe  I  found 
By  Ocean's  dread  abyss,  I  swear, 
Nor  then  nor  there  my  foot  should  spare 
To  spurn  to  death  the  accursed  hound. 
Unblenching,  down  into  the  sea 
I'd  hurl  him  in  his  mortal  fear  ; 
And  his  awakening  npony — 
I'd  mock  It  with  a  joyous' sneer  ! 
And  lon^  his  falling  crush  should  be 
A  sweetest  concord  to  mine  ear-' — PousmtlN.  ' 

They  were  laying  the  foundations  of  a  temple- 

at  Rome That  this  was  a  memorable  day 

may  be  judged,  when  I  say  that  they  were  lay- 
ing the  foundations  of  St.  Peter's.  On  this  day 
was  fixed  the  corner-stone,  the  embryo  of  that 
wondrous  structure  ;  but  half  a  century  was  yet 
to  elapse  before  the  genips  of  Bramante  was  to 
complete  it.  From  all  directions  were  crowd 
ing  Italians  and  foreigners;  many  out  of  curi 
osity  lo  witness  a  magnificent  spectacle,  some 
from  duly,  others  from  love  for  art,  or  religious 
fct  ling.  The  ceremony  fully  corresponded  with 
the  giandeur  of  its  object  ;  the  Pojie  (Nicholas 
j  V,,  the  founder  of  the  Vatican  library)  had.  not 


THE    HERETIC. 


13 


his  treasures  ;  a  crowd  of  cardinals, 
d'nkes,  princes,  the  successor  of  St.  Peter  in 
person,  with  his  cortege,  a  legion  of  Condottie- 
ri,  glittering  with  arms,  pennons,  oriflamines  ; 
flowers,  gold,  chanting— all  this  enveloped  in 
steaming  incense,  as  if  it  marched  in  clouds, 
presented  a  wondrous  spectacle.  But  who  could 
have  imagined  that  a  mere  trifle  had  nearly  de- 
stroyed the  grandeur  of  this  procession  ! 

Into  the  crowd  of  distinguished  foreigners, 
-vvho  surpassed  each  other  in  dress  and  stateli- 
Tiess,  following  the  Pope's  train  at  a  short  dis- 
tance, had  insinuated  itself  a  little  deformed  fig- 
ure of  an  Italian,  habited  in  a  modest  cloak. 
This  had  the  effect  of  a  spot  of  dirt  on  the  mar- 
ble of  a  sculptor,  a  beggarly  patch  on  a  velvet 
toga,  the  jarring  of  a  broken  string  in  the  midst 
of  an  harmonious  concert.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
abortion  had  mingled  with  that  brilliant  throng 
on  purpose  to  revenge  upon  it  his  own  deformi- 
ty. The  splendid  young  men  around  him  began 
to  whisper  among  themselves,  and  to  cast  side- 
long glarrces  at  him,  and  by  degrees  to  jostle 
him.  The  dwarf  went  on  in  silence.  Then 
they  began  to  enquire  who  was  this  insolent 
luiknown,  who  had  dared  to  spoil  a  cortege  so 
carefully  prepared  ;  and  they  learned  that  he 
was  a  physician  of  Padua.  "A  leech  !  certes, 
a  grand  personage  !  .  .  .  Some  Jew!"  At  this 
moment  divers  pretty  faces  looked  out  of  a  win- 
dow ;  one  laughed  archly,  and  another  seemed 
to  point  with  her  finger  at  the  train  of  young 

men Was  this   to  be  endured  1     The 

-sidelong  glances  and  grimaces  began  again  ;  a 
cross-fire  of  mockery  was  poured  forth  ;  some 
trode  on  the  dwarf's  toes,  others  shouldered 
him  :  he,  as  though  he  was  deaf,  blind,  or  sense- 
less, continued  to  advance.  "  He  stinks  of  car- 
rion !"  said  one  :  "  Of  barber's  soap  !"'  cried  an- 
other. "  I'll  shave  him  with  my  doul)led-edged 
razor  !"  added  a  third,  menacing  him  with  his 
sabre.  "  Metal  is  too  noble  for  such  rascaille  !" 
said  a  stately  young  German  who  was  next  to 
the  Italian  ;  "  the  baton  is  good  enough  for 
him  !"  Then  the  figure  clapped  its  little  hand 
to  its  side  as  if  to  find  a  dagger,  but  it  had  no 
arms  :  from  its  tiny  mouth  burst  forth  the  word 
"knecht !"  probably  because  some  of  the  Ger- 
man mercenaries  were  called  lanzknechts.  O, 
you  should  have  seen  what  an  effect  this  word 
produced  on  the  young  Teuton  !  A  crimson 
flush  mounted  to  his  face,  his  lips  quivered  ; 
with  a  vigorous  hand  he  seized  the  little  man 
by  the  collar,  lifted  him  into  the  air,  and  hurled 
him  out  of  the  line  of  procession.  This  was 
done  so  rapidly,  that  nothing  could  be  seen  but 
arms  and  legs  struggling  for  two  or  three  in- 
stants in  the  air.  Nought  was  heard  but  a 
Avliizz,  then  a  fall  on  the  pavement,  and  then — 
neither  sigh  nor  motion.  "  Well  done.  Baron  !" 
cried  the  athlete's  companions,  closing  up  the 
ranks,  and  laughing  inaudibly  as  though  nothing 
had  happened.  The  unfortunate  wretch  who  had 
been  thrown  to  the  dust  with  such  gigantic  force, 
was  the  Paduan  doctor,  Antonio  Fioraventi. 
In  that  diminutive  frame  was  manifested  the 
highest  intellect.  All  spoke  of  his  learning,  of 
the  miracles  which  he  had  performed  on  the 
sick,  of  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  of  the  disin- 
terestedness of  his  character.  But  they  knew 
not  the  greatness  of  his  soul ;  for  he  never  had 
been  obliged  to  struggle  with  destiny  or  man. 


Till  then  his  life  had  been  one  uninterrupted 
success  ;  learning,  wealth,  glory — all  had  been 
given  to  him,  as  though  in  compensation  for  the 
injustice  of  nature  ;  and  all  this  was  concealed 
under  the  veil  of  an  almost  feminine  modesty. 
On  seeing  him  for  tlie  first  time,  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  avoid  laughing  at  his  diminutive, 
distorted  figure  ;  but  at  every  succeeding  inter- 
view he  seemed  to  grow  imperceptibly  taller 
and  less  ugly  in  your  eyes,  so  attractive  were 
his  intellect  and  his  heart.  Travelling  in  search 
of  opportunity  to  exercise  his  humanity  and 
science,  he  had  only  just  arrived  in  Rome,  and 
at  his  first  step,  as  it  were,  across  the  threshold 
of  the  Eternal  City,  he  made  a  most  unhappy 
stumble.  At  the  time  of  the  procession,  an  in- 
distinct but  overwhelming  impulse  had  carried 
him,  without  the  sanction  of  his  will,  into  the 
circle  of  the  brilliant  foreigners :  how  severely 
was  his  punishment  for  his  absence  of  mind  ! 

When  he  came  to  himself  all  was  still  and 
empty  around  him — only  dark  phantoms  ap- 
peared to  dance  before  his  eyes  ;  and  among 
them  the  young  German  seemed  to  be  tramp- 
ling on  him  :  his  head  was  so  heavy,  his  thoughts 
so  confused,  that  he  could  hardly  understand 
where  he  was.  Re-assembling  his  ideas,  he 
crawled  to  his  lodging  ;  but  the  image  of  his 
opponent  followed  him  all  the  way.  From  this 
moment,  that  image  never  quitted  Antonio  Fio- 
raventi ;  had  he  been  a  painter,  he  could  at  once 
have  put  him  on  canvass,  he  could  have  pointed 
him  out  among  crowds  of  people  ;  he  would  have 
known  him  at  the  end  of  a  thousand  years. 

He  passed  some  weeks  in  a  violent  fever  :  in 
his  delirium  he  saw  nothing  but  the  German  ; 
at  his  recovery,  the  first  object  his  mind  could 
recall  was  the  hated  German.  With  returning 
strength  grew  the  desire  for  revenge  ;  his  en- 
dowments, science,  his  wealth,  his  connexions, 
his  life— he  would  have  sacrificed  all  to  this  feel- 
ing. A  thousand  means,  a  thousand  plans  were 
thought  of,  by  which  to  avenge  his  humiliation. 
Could  those  thoughts  have  been  fulfilled,  from 
them  would  have  arisen  a  giant  reaching  to  the 
sky.  Antonio  began  to  cherish  his  life,  as  we 
guard  the  sharp  blade  of  the  falchion  when  we 
make  ready  for  the  battle.  To  revenge— and 
then  to  throw  his  soul  into  the  talons  of  the 
fiend,  if  it  were  not  granted  him  to  prostrate  it 
before  the  throne  of  God  !  Thirty  years  had  he 
fulfilled  the  commandment  of  the  Lord,  "  Love 
thy  neighbour  as  a  brother" — thirty  years  had 
he  strained  along  the  path  of  heaven  :  and  in  a 
moment.  Destiny  had  barred  that  path  from  him, 
and  hung  him  over  the  abyss  of  hell.  Had  fate 
then  the  right  to  say — "  Fall  not !"  There  was 
One,  whose  head  had  not  turned  at  the  sight  of 
that  precipice  ;  but  he  was  not  a  man,  he  walk- 
ed upon  the  waters  as  on  dry  land.  Whose 
fault  was  it,  if  a  common  mortal  could  not  keep 
from  falling  ? 

Thus  said,  within  himself,  Antonio  Fiora- 
venti ;  and  sharpened  in  his  soul  the  arms  of 
vengeance.  "  To  work  !"  said  he  at  last,  as 
soon  as  he  was  in  a  condition  to  leave  the 
house.  His  search  led  him  every  where — to 
the  court,  to  the  high-road,  to  the  temples  and 
to  the  villas,  to  the  library  and  the  burial- 
ground.  Often  was  he  seen  in  secret  confer- 
ence with  the  doorkeepers,  in  friendly  conver- 
sation with  the  police;  high  and  low  — every 


14 


THE    HERETIC. 


thing  was  a  good  means,  provided  he  could 
reach  his  aim.  Under  the  sultry  sky,  in  rain, 
in  storm,  he  stood  at  the  cross-roads,  waiting 
for  his  German  Yes  I  he  called  him  Ai*,  as 
though  he  had  bought  him  for  an  incalculable 
price  of  vengeance.  Every  quarter,  every 
house,  was  sifted  to  the  bottom  by  his  enqui- 
ries ;  Rome  was  stripped  naked  before  him  ; 
and  when  he  learned  that  his  foe  was  no  longer 
in  Rome,  he  left  the  Eternal  City,  hurling  back 
on  it  a  curse  for  his  farewell. 

His  enquiries,  however,  had  not  been  entirely 
vain.  He  obtained  a  list  of  all  the  strangers 
who  had  come  to  Rome  from  different  courts 
to  be  present  at  the  founding  of  the  church. 
Often  did  he  read  it  over,  and  consider  the  va- 
rious names  contained  in  it ;  he  learned  them 
by  heart — now  to  one,  now  to  another  name,  as 
if  by  presentiment,  did  he  affix  the  bloody  mark 
— that  mark  for  which-  he  was  ready  to  stake 
his  own  blood  ;  and  sometimes  he  swelled  with 
pleasure,  as  if,  in  possessing  this  list,  he  was 
the  master  of  those  whose  names  composed  it. 
What  would  he  not  have  given  for  the  magic 
power  of  calling  them  to  his  presence  !  .  .  .  . 
Oh  !  then  he  would  have  marked  one  of  them 
with  a  different  kind  of  blood-stroke  ! 

Three,  four  years,  perhaps  even  longer,  did 
Antonio  Fioraventi  wander  over  Italy,  seeking 
for  his  enemy ;  but  in  vain.  It  seemed  as 
though,  in  the  course  of  time,  his  desire  for 
vengeance  either  disappeared  altogether,  or  be- 
came more  reasonable  ;  he  devoted  himself 
again  entirely  to  science — to  make  an  important 
discovery  in  medicine — to- acquire  for  himself  a 
great  name,  an  European  glory  ;— this  was  the 
way  he  would  avenge  himself  on  his  insulter. 
His  portrait  would  be  painted  ;  the  German 
would  see  it,  would  recognize  it.  "  This," 
they  would  say,  "is  the  portrait  of  the  famous 
Anlonio  Fioraventi,  that  dwarfish  leech  whom 
the  huge  Teuton  had  so  cruelly  outraged."  He 
would  throw  his  glory  in  his  enemy's  teeth  ; 
this,  too,  would  be  a  vengeance.  O,  such  a 
vengeance  would  be  a  noble  feeling!  With 
faith  in  his  own  science,  and  a  thirst  for  new 
knowledge,  he  visited  the  mo.st  famous  learned 
institutions,  and  at  length  arrived  at  Augsburg. 
Here  a  report  was  soon  abroad,  that  he  could 
recall  the  dying  to  life,  could  raise  them  from 
the  dead.  They  vaunted  particularly  his  skill 
in  the  diseases  of  women,  to  which  he  had 
principally  directed  his  attention.  The  physi- 
cians of  Augsburg,  in  return  for  his  counsels 
and  secrets,  hastened  to  accord  him  the  chief 
place  among  them  ;  they  led  him  to  the  palace 
and  to  the  cottagp,  for  even  to  the  latter  he 
never  refused  to  carry  his  skill  and  experience. 

Once  he  was  called  in  to  the  house  of  the 
Baron  Ehrenstein.  The  baron,  at  the  age  of 
thirty,  handsome,  distinguished,  and  rich,  had 
crowned  these  advantages  by  contracting  an 
alliance  with  a  distant  relation  of  King  Potli 
brad— a  young  lady  of  ravishing  beauty  ;  but  it 
was  neither  ambition  nor  the  honour  of  a  royal 
relationship  thai  confirmed  this  match.  Pas- 
sionate and  devoted  love  had  led  the  bride- 
groom and  the  bride  to  the  marriage  altar. 
Three  years  had  passed,  and  the  married  pair, 
as  though  but  newly  betrothed,  seemed  as  if 
they  could  neither  see  nor  talk  of  each  other 
enough,  nor  exhaust  each  other's  ardent  caress- 


es. Three  years  had  thus  passed  like  one  uiv 
broken  honey-moon.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
fourth,  the  baroness  seemed  about  to  offer  her 
husband  the  first-fruits  of  their  love.  Long  be- 
forehand they  had  exhausted  all  tender  cares, 
all  the  wonders  o(  luxury,  to  receive  into  life 
and  to  cherish  this  spoiled  child  of  fortune^ 
Long  beforehand  the  astrologers,  of  whom  there 
were  numbers  at  this  period,  had  promised  him 
beauty,  fortune,  valour,  long  life — every  thing 
short  of  immortality.  On  one  side  hope,  on  the 
other  interest  and  flattery,  had  woven  ovet  the 
cradle  of  the  infant  about  to  come  into  the 
world  a  canopy  so  brilliant,  that  heaven  alone, 
with  its  innumerable  stars,  was  to  be  compared 
with  it.  To  the  baron,  the  hope  of  becoming  a 
father  was  superior  to  all  the  joys  of  earth,  ex- 
cepting the  happiness  of  loving  his  dear  and 
lovely  wife,  and  of  being  beloved  by  her  ;  and 
so  the  baroness  prepared  to  lie  in.  All  the  pe- 
riods of  pregnancy  were  favourably  concluded, 
and  promised  a  similar  result ;  but  when  the 
decisive  moment  arrived,  the  reverse  occurred. 
Three  days  passed,  and  every  day  augmented 
her  sufferings  and  her  danger :  we  may  judge 
how  the  baron  felt  during  this  time.  The  most 
skilful  physicians  were  called  in  ;  they  employ- 
ed every  means  with  which  they  were  acquaint- 
ed, but  in  vain :  they  gave  her  over.  The  un- 
fortunate lady  could  no  longer  support  her  ago- 
ny ;  she  wished  for  death,  and  begged  to  see  a 
priest.  Ere  the  holy  man  arrived,  one  of  the 
physicians  advised  Ehrenstein  to  call  in  the  cel- 
ebrated Italian  Fioraventi,  then  recently  arrived 
at  Augsburg.  "  If  he  cannot  save  her,"  said 
the  adviser,  •'  she  cannot  be  saved  by  man. 
The  Italian  can  almost  revive  the  dead." 

The  priest  was  mounting  the  stairs  with  the 
elements  ;  behind  him  came  Antonio  Fioraven- 
ti :  the  master  of  the  house  advanced  to  meet 
him,  pale,  trembling,  with  white  lips  and  dish- 
eveled hair.  It  was  noon.  The  sun  brightly 
illuminated  the  staircase  —  every  object  was 
distinctly  seen  :  the  first  movement  oithe  bar- 
on— the  proud,  the  haughty  kinsman  of  a  king 
— was  to  throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  Ital- 
ian, and  to  implore  him  to  save  his  wife.  Gold,^ 
lands,  honours — all  were  promised  to  him  if  he 
would  save  her  who  was  dearer  than  life  itself. 

Antonio  glanced  at  the  master  of  the  house 

Great  God  !  Merciful  powers  !  'Twas  he, 
that  terrible,  that  hated  German,  who  h.id  in- 
sulted him  so  cruelly  at  Rome.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  mistake.  The  man  whom  he  had  been 
tracking  so  many  years — whose  blood  he  had 
so  thirsted  for — for  vengeance  on  whom  he 
would  have  sold  himself  to  Satan — that  man 
was  at  his  feet,  in  his  power.  Fioraventi 
laughed  within  his  soul  a  laugh  of  hell :  the 
man  who  had  heard  tlwt  laugh  would  have  felt 
his  hair  bristle  up.  His  hands  shook,  his  lips 
quivered,  his  knees  sank  under  him  ;  but  he 
struggled  to  be  calm,  and  said,  with  a  Satanic 
smile — "  Well,  we  will  see  !" 

In  these  words  a  whole  eternity  was  con- 
densed. 

The  baron  did  not  recognize  him  :  how  could 
he,  in  the  midst  of  such  agonizing  despair,  re- 
member, or  form  a  clear  idea  of  any  thing  !  He 
saw  in  him  only  the  preserver  of  his  wife — his 
guardian  angel  ;  and  he  was  ready  to  bear  him 
in  his  arms  lo  the  chamber  of  the  sufferer. 


THE  HERETIC. 


IS 


"  Haste,  in  the  name  of  God,  haste !"  cried 
Ehrenstein,  in  a  tone  that  would  have  touched 
a  tiger. 

'•  Well,  we  will  see  !"  sternly  replied  Fiora- 
venti,  and  at  this  moment  the  genius  of  revenge 
illumined,  as  with  a  flickering  lightning  flash, 
the  dark  abysses  of  his  soul,  and  traced  out 
what  he  was  to  do. 

They  proceed :  they  enter  the  sufferer's  cham- 
ber. A  half  light,  cautiously  admitted,  allowed 
the  physician  to  distinguish  her  features,  and  to 
perform  his  duties.  How  beautiful  she  was,  in 
spite  of  her  suflferings  !  His  foe  was  happy  in 
her  !  so  much  the  better  !  Still  more  deep  and 
vast  would  be  his  vengeance  !  .  .  . 

"  God  be  thanked — the  priest !"  said  the  bar- 
oness in  a  dying  voice. 

"  No,  my  love !  it  is  not  the  priest,"  softly 
whispered  Ehrenstein  consolingly  :  "  do  not  de- 
spair ;  this  is  a  famous  physician  who  will  save 
you.  .  .  .  My  presentiment  will  not  deceive  me. 
....  I  believe  firmly  ;  and  do  thou,  dearest,  be- 
lieve too"  .... 

"Ah,  learned  physician!  save  me!"  faintly 
uttered  the  dying  lady. 

A  minute — two — three — five — of  deep,  grave- 
like silence  !  they  were  counted  on  the  hus- 
band's heart  by  the  icy  fingers  of  death.  At 
length  Fioraventi  went  up  to  him. 

"  She" 

And  the  physician  stopped. 

Ehrenstein  devoured  him  with  hungry  eyes 
and  ears.  His  mouth  was  open,  but  he  uttered 
no  sound.  He  was  panting  to  say  "life"  or 
"death." 

" She" .... 

And  the  physician  again  stopped.  The  bar- 
on's face  became  convulsed. 

"  She  shall  be  saved.  I  answer  for  it  with  my 
lile,"  said  Fioraventi  firmly — and  the  baron  look- 
ed like  some  statue  about  to  descend  from  its 
pedestal.  Ehrenstein  was  irradiated  with  life  : 
in  silence  he  took  Antonio's  hand,  in  order  to 
press  it  to  his  lips.     The  physician  drew  it  back. 

"  Slie  shall  be  saved,  and  your  child  also,"  he 
whispered  ;  "  but  with  a  condition  on  my  part" 


"  Whatever  you  can  wish,"  replied  the  baron. 

"  Think  not  that  my  request  will  be  easy  for 
you." 

"  I  will  refuse  nothing.  Demand  my  lands, 
my  life,  if  you  will." 

"I  am  an  Italian,"  said  the  physician;  "I 
trust  not  to  words  ....  The  matter  affects  my 
welfare  ....  I  must  have  an  oath"  .... 

"  I  swear"  .... 

"  Stop  !  I  saw  a  priest  there"  .... 

"  I  understand  :  you  desire  ....  Let  us  go  !" 
They  went  into  the  next  chamber. 

There  stood  an  old  man — a  servant  of  God — 
holding  the  sacred  elements  :  he  was  preparing 
to  separate  the  earthly  from  the  earth,  and  to 

give  it  wings  to  heaven. "  Holy  father,"  said 

the  baron  solemnly,  "  be  a  mediator  between  me 
and  the  living  God,  whom  now  I  call  on  to  wit- 
ness my  oath." 

The  priest,  not  understanding  wherefore,  but 
moved  by  the  deep  voice  of  the  baron,  raised 
the  cup  with  the  sacraments,  and  reverently 
bent  his  hoary  head. 

"  Now  repeat  after  me,"  interrupted  Fiora- 
venti in  a  trembling  voice,  as  though  awe-struck 


by  the  sanctity  of  the  solemn  rite ;  "  but  re- 
member that  twenty  minutes,  and  no  more,  re- 
main for  me  to  save  your  wife  :  let  them  pass  ; 
and  then  blame  yourself."  Ehrenstein  contin- 
ued in  the  same  deep,  soul-felt  tone,  but  so  as 
not  to  be  heard  in  his  wife's  chamber — "  If  my 
Amalia  is  saved,  I  swear  by  Almighty  God,  and 
by  the  most  holy  body  of  his  only-begotten  Son  ; 
may  I  perish  in  the  agonies  of  hell,  and  may  all 
my  house  perish  even  as  a  worm,  when  I  de- 
part from  my  oath."  Then  he  turned  his  eyes 
on  the  physician,  awaiting  his  dictation.  The 
physician  continued  firmly  : — "  If  a  son  is  bora 
to  me,  the  first-born"  .... 

The  baron  repeated  : — "  If  a  son  is  born  to 
me,  the  first-born"  .... 

"  In  a  year  to  give  up  him,  my  son,  to  the  Pa- 
duan  doctor,  Antonio  Fioraventi"  .... 

The  baron  stopped  ....  A  fountain  of  fire 
rushed  to  his  heart  ....  He  gazed  at  the  tempt- 
er with  all  the  power  of  his  memory  ....  That 
glance  recalled  the  adventure  in  Rome  ....  he' 
recognized  his  opponent,  and  guesed  his  sen- 
tence. 

"  Speak,  my  lord  baron  :  of  the  twenty  min— 
utes  some  are  already  gone"  .... 

Ehrenstein  continued  with  quivering  lips  : — 
"  In  a  year  to  give  up  him,  my  son,  to  the  Padu- 
an  doctor,  Antonio  Fioraventi :  the  same  whom. 
I,  about  five  years  ago,  insulted  without  reason, 
and  whom  I  now,  before  Jesus  Christ,  who  par- 
doned the  sins  even  of  the  thief,  humbly  im- 
plore to  pardon  me." 

"  Pardon  1  ....  ha  !  ...  .  No,  proud  baron  ! 
there  is  no  mercy  for  you  now  !  .  .  .  .  Five  years 
have  1  waited  for  this  moment ....  Say  : — '  I 
swear  and  I  repeat  my  oath ;  to  give  up- my  first- 
born when  he  is  a  year  old,  to  the  leech  Fiora- 
venti, that  he  may  bring  him  up  to  be  a  physi- 
cian ;  wherefore  I  endow  Master  Fioraventi 
with  the  authority  of  a  father ;  and  that  I  wilt 
in  no  way  interfere  with  his  education,  or  in 
any  thing  else  concerning  him.  If  a  daughter 
is  born  to  me,  to  give  her  in  marriage  to  th& 
leech  ....  he  alone,  Fioraventi,  is  to  have  the 
right  to  absolve  me  from  this  oath.'  " 

"  No  !  I  will  not  utter  that"  .... 

"  Save  me,  I  die  !"  was  heard  from  the  ad- 
joining chamber.  It  was  the  faint  voice  of  the 
Baroness  Ehrenstein. 

And  the  baron,  without  delay,  repeated  all 
Fioraventi's  words,  one  after  the  other,  in  a  fu- 
neral voice,  as  if  he  was  reading  his  own  death- 
doom  :  a  cold  sweat  streamed  from  his  forehead. 
When  he  had  concluded,  he  sank  senseless  into 
a  chair,  supported  by  his  faithful  attendant  Yarr 
and  the  priest,  who  had  been  for  some  time  agi- 
tated witnesses  of  this  dreadful  scene.  Both- 
hastened  to  render  him  assistance. 

In  the  mean  time  Fioraventi  rushed  into  the 
bed-chamber.  After  some  minutes,  Ehrenstein- 
opened  his  eyes,  and  the  first  sound  he  heard 
was  the  cry  of  an  infant. 

All  was  forgotten. 

He  went  cautiously  to  the  door  of  the  bed- 
chamber, and  applied  his  ear  to  it ;  the  lying-in 

woman  was  talking  in  a  low  voice She 

was  thanking  the  physician. 

The  leech  returned,  and  said: — "My  lord 
baron,  I  congratulate  you  on  a  son." 


16 


THE   HERETIC. 


CHAPTER  III. 


WAS    IT    FULFILLED 


"The  secret  cause  of  his  anguish 
No  man  knew,  but  they  saw  how  long  and  sorely  lamenting 
Sorrowed  the  desolate  Tsar,  as  his  son's  return  he  awaited  ; 
Best  knew  he  none  by  day,  by  mght  sleep  lulled  not  his  eye- 
lids. 
Tirac  rolled  nye  on  his  course."  .  .  . 

The  Lay  oj  the  Tsar  BerendH.  ■  ■  ■  Joikoffsk6i 

The  Baroness  Ehrenstein,  ignorant  of  what 
had  passed  between  her  husband  and  the  physi- 
cian, gave  the  name  of  the  Jailer  to  her  infant 
son,  out  of  gratitude  for  the  leech's  services. 
The  little  .Vniony  bloomed  like  a  rose;  every 
day  he  grew  more  lively  under  his  mother's  eye, 
clierishcid  by  her  tender  care  :  and  with  the  child 
bloomed  also  the  mother.  The  father  was  only 
delighted  in  appearance ;  the  thought  that  he 
had  given  him  up  to  the  phsyician — that  he  had 
sold  him,  as  it  were,  to  Satan— that  he  would 
be  nothing  but  a  leech,  poisoned  all  his  joy  ;  oft- 
en did  the  sight  of  the  infant  thus  devoted  from 
the  cradle  to  ignominy,  force  tears  from  his 
eyes  ;  but  then,  fearing  that  his  wife  might  per- 
ceive his  sorrow,  he  would  swallow  the  grief 
that  swelled  in  his  throat.  A  leech  I — Heavens  ! 
what  would  the  world— what  would  his  kins- 
men say  1  his  friends — above  all,  his  foes — when 
they  learned  the  destiny  of  the  baron's  son ! 
How  announce  it  to  his  wife  I  It  would  kill  her. 
Better  had  he  never  been  born,  ill-faled  babe.  I 

"My  dear  love,"  said  the  baroness  one  day, 
filled  with  rapture,  as  .she  held  on  her  knees  the 
lovely  infant,  "  it  was  not  for  nothing  that  the 
astrologers  promised  our  child  such  gifts.  Ad- 
mire him  :  look  I  what  fire,  what  intelligence,  in 
his  eyes  I  He  looks  at  us  as  if  he  understood 
lis.  Methinks  the  stars  of  greatness  are  beam- 
ing on  him.  Who  knows  what  high  destiny 
awaits  him  ;  even  the  Bohemian  king,  Podibrad, 
was  but  a  simple  noble  I" 

These  words  tore  the  father's  soul.  "  My  be- 
loved," he  said,  "  it  is  sinful  for  a  father  or 
mother  to  predict  the  fate  of  their  children. 
'Tis  a  sin  of  presumption,  and  offends  Provi- 
dence, which  knows  better  than  we  do  what  is 
l)est  for  us." 

"Tru»,"  replied  the  mother,  agitated  by  her 
presentiments,  and  perhaps  also  by  the  sorrow 
which  appeared  in  her  husband's  words  and 
looks  ;  "  'i'rue,  these  predictions  may  offend  the 
Lord.  Let  us  only  pray  that  he  will  not  take 
him  from  us.  O  !  I  could  not  survive  my  An- 
tony I" 

And  the  mother  crossed  the  infant  in  the  name 
of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost,  fearing  that 
her  proud  wishes  might  call  down  on  him  the 
anger  of  Heaven  ;  and  she  pressed  him  to  her 
bosom,  where  her  heart  was  beating  like  a  late- 
ly hurried  pendulum  that  is  about  to  return  to 
its  regular  vibration. 

"  Why  did  this  son  live — this  child  devoted 
til  sorrow  and  its  parents'  shame  !  What  had 
lie  to  do  Willi  the  leech's  life?  Belter  bad  the 
Lord  taken  him,  early,  to  himself— to  the  choir 
of  his  angels  ....  or  rather,  why  did  he  not 
take  the  unhappy  father !  ....  Thus  the  oath 
would  not  be  lulfillod— the  mother  did  not  Uke 
the  oath  :  mother  and  son  would  be  happy." 

'I'hus  thought  the  father — the  haughty  baron. 
Soiiitlimes  the  idea  arose  in  his  mind  of  volun- 
tarily breaking  the  oath  :  no  one  knew  of  its  ex- 


istence but  the  old  priest  and  Yan :  the  priest 
had  buried  his  part  of  the  secret  in  the  walls  of 
some  monastery — with  the  faithful  retainer  the 
secret  was  dead.  But,  weak-minded  as  the 
baron  was,  he  dreaded  eternal  torments  :  the 
oath  was  graven  in  such  burning  characters  in 
his  memory,  hell  was  so  vividly  painted  in  his 
conscience,  that  he  determined  on  fulfilling  the 
obligation.  Some  months  passed,  and  still  he 
delayed  to  disclose  to  his  wife  the  dreadful  se- 
cret of  his  oath ;  many  were  his  attempts,  his 
struggles,  his  resolves,  but  they  all  concluded 
by  deferring  the  explanation.  Amalia  was  again 
pregnant ;  this  circumstance  brought  some  re- 
lief to  the  agonized  soul  of  the  baron.  Perhaps 
she  would  give  him  another  son  I  .  .  .  .  Then 
the  first  might  be  given  up  a  sacrifice  to  inex- 
orable fate — let  hivi  be  a  physician  !  .  .  .  . 

A  year  passed,  and  as  yet  the  mother  knew 
nothing  of  the  terrible  secret.  The  baron  waits 
one  day  ....  two  ....  Fioraventi  appears 
not  to  claim  his  victim.  Perhaps  he  will  not 
come !  .  .  .  .  Weeks  pass  ....  no  tidings  of 
him  ....  What  if  he  be  dead  !  .  .  .  . 

And  the  baron  silently  blessed  each  passing 
day.  Why  uselessly  agitate  the  mother  \  Per- 
haps Fioraventi  had  satiated  his  vengeance  on 
the  day  of  their  son's  birth  ;  perhaps  the  gen- 
erous Fioraventi  is  satisfied  with  the  tortures  of 
suspense  which  he  has  already  inflicted  on  his 
insulter,  and  desires  no  further  fulfilment  of  the 
oath.  Noble  Fioraventi  1  May  the  blessing  of 
God  be  upon  thee ! 

Spare  thy  blessings '.  The  Italian  is  not  a 
child,  to  play  with  his  feelings  as  with  golden 
bubbles  that  vanish  in  the  air. 

One  day — it  was  on  the  same  day  of  the 
month,  at  the  same  hour,  that  the  adventure 
had  happened  at  Rome — (the  revenge  was  cal- 
culated;— Yan,  with  a  pallid  face,  entered  his 
master's  chamber.  Yan  spoke  not  a  word  ;  but 
the  other  understood  him. 

'•  Here  !"  he  enquired  of  the  domestic,  turn- 
ing as  pale  as  death. 

"  He  ordered  me  to  say  that  he  is  here,"  re- 
plied Yan. 

Some  days  passed,  and  yet  Fioraventi  ap- 
peared not  for  his  victim.  Terrible  days  I  They 
deprived  the  baron  of  several  years  of  life  !  Oh, 
that  he  could  conceal  from  the  great  nobility, 
from  his  kinsmen,  his  acquaintance,  the  court, 
from  the  lowest  of  his  vassals,  that  his  son  was 
to  be  given  up  to  a  leech,  as  an  apprentice  is 
given  to  a  shoemaker  or  a  carpenter  for  a  certain 
number  of  years !  These  thoughts  tormented 
him  yet  more  than  the  sacrifice  of  his  child. 
One  day  they  brought  the  baron  a  letter.  It 
was  from  Fioraventi ! 

Docs  it  bring  mercy  or  doom  \ 

He  opened  it  with  quivering  hands,  and 
breathle.ssly  read  :  "  I  hear  that  the  baroness  is 
soon  about  to  lie  in  again.  Her  confinement 
will  be  difficult,  I  am  convinced.  I  offer  my 
services." 

We  may  guess  that  these  services  were  ac- 
cepted with  delight  and  gratitude.  Fioraventi 
concluded  right :  the  baroness's  labour  was  dif- 
ficult ;  and  again  the  leech  congratulated  the 
baron  on  the  safety  of  the  mother  and  of  a  son, 
F(T(linand  ;  only  adding—"  Now  we  will  share ; 
one  for  you,  the  other  for  me."  This  decision, 
pronounced  with  inllexibility,  gave  the  father 


THE   HERETIC. 


IT 


the  sad  assurance  that  the  destiny  of  his  eldest 
son  was  not  changed,  and  that  all  that  was  now 
left  him  was  to  prepare  Amalia  for  it  on  her 
recovery.  Two  months'  respite  was  given. 
Ehrenstein  only  requested  that  he  might  be  al- 
lowed to  place  the  child  in  some  obscure  place 
or  village  of  Italy,  where  neither  the  baron  nor 
the  physician  were  known. 

All  this  was  granted,  even  like  an  alms  which 
a  rich  man  throws  to  a  beggar.  Yet  one  more 
favour.  It  was  permitted  to  the  father  and 
mother  to  see  their  child  every  three  years  for 
a  week,  or  even  for  a  month,  to  caress  him,  to 
tell  him  he  was  their  son ;  but  in  the  character 
of  poor  German  nobles  of  the  house  of  Ehren- 
stein, under  condition,  however,  of  confirming 
in  the  boy  a  lovo  for,  and  devotion  to  physic. 
Yet  another  condition  was  exacted :  all  kinds 
of  aid  and  presents  from  his  relations  were  to 
be  decidedly  refused .  The  baron  agreed  to  th  is, 
rather  as  these  conditions  secured  the  secret 
from  publicity,  which  he  dreaded  more  than  any 
thing. 

At  this  time  a  fresh  calamity  fell  upon  the 
baron's  house. 

In  spite  of  all  the  investigations  of  reason, 
there  are  still  some  questions  relating  to  the 
connexion  between  the  internal  and  external 
Avorld,  which  must  for  ever  remain  unsolved. 
In  a  future  world,  perhaps,  we  may  receive  an 
explanation  of  the  thousand  difficulties  which 
are  offered  by  another  state  of  existence.  The 
law  of  presentiment  is  among  the  number  of 
these  questions.  Who  is  there,  from  the  king 
to  the  peasant,  who  has  not  felt  its  power,  and 
who,  in  this  chain  of  human  beings,  has  ever 
explained  its  process  1  .  .  .  . 

I  preface  with  this  reflection  what  I  am 
about  to  tell  of  the  presentiment  which  the  bar- 
oness felt  of  her  approaching  loss.  She  dream- 
ed that  a  ravenous  wolf  snatched  her  eldest 
habe  from  her  bosom,  and,  throwing  the  child 
over  his  shoulder,  bore  him  away  ....  she 
knew  not  where.  When  she  awoke,  her  agi- 
tation was  so  violent  that  her  milk  was  driven 
to  the  head.  Fioraventi  again  saved  her  life  : 
but  he  could  not  obliterate  the  traces  of  her 
dreadful  disorder.  The  baroness  lost  her  beau- 
ty ;  dark  stains  disfigured  her.  One  misfortune 
brougiit  on  another — the  gradual  cooling  of  her 
husband's  love.  Inconstant  in  his  nature,  his 
affection  fled  with  the  beauty  of  its  object.  Up 
to  this  time  he  had  loved  her  ardently  ;  there 
was  no  sacrifice  which  he  would  not  have  made 
to  secure  her  welfare,  nay,  even  her  tranquilli- 
ty ;  but  his  heart  was  like  the  transforming 
vase  of  a  juggler— his  flame  could,  in  a  few 
hours,  change  into  ice.  Thus  it  now  happened. 
Henceforward  all  his  cares  were  concentrated 
on  his  younger  son.  If,  after  a  few  months,  the 
choice  had  been  offered  to  him  of  losing  Ferdi- 
nand or  his  wife,  for  whose  preservation  he  had 
given  up  his  son,  and  would  have  sacrificed 
himself,  he  would  now,  without  hesitation, 
lyjve  consented  to  lose  his  wife,  though,  per- 
haps, he  would  not  openly  have  said  so. 

Such  was  his  character  in  the  affairs  of  life. 
To-day,  from  vanity,  he  would  have  bared  his 
breast  to  the  spear  point,  or  set  out  on  a  new 
crusade — to-morrow,  he  would  not  stir  a  pin's 
length— he  would  not  defile  his  foot  to  save  a 
perishing  friend.  To-day,  at  the  foot  of  the  foe 
B 


whom  yesterday  he  had  vanquished — to-mor- 
row, ready  to  repeat  the  scene  of  the  Roman 
father.  To-day,  he  would  seat  you  in  the  high- 
est place  at  his  board,  overwhelming  you  with, 
all  the  names  of  honour  he  could  drag  from  the 
vocabulary  of  politeness  and  esteem — to-mor- 
row, at  the  first  nod  from  a  vagabond  gipsy, 
without  examination,  without  reflection,  he 
would  let  you  dance  attendance  at  his  castle 
gate  if  you  had  need  of  him,  and  receive  you 
with  all  the  baronial  hauteur  —  "  welcome, 
friend."     Such  characters  are  not  rare. 

At  the  recovery  of  the  baroness,  they  prepa- 
red to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  our  Lady  of  Loret- 
to,  to  show  their  gratitude  for  the  double  pres- 
ervation of  the  mother  from  death.  They  took 
with  them  theelder  of  the  children  ;  the  young- 
er they  left  with  a  nurse,  under  the  care  of  a 
near  kinsman.  Fioraventi  followed  them  on 
their  journey,  but  not  without  precautions  :  he 
comprehended  the  baron's  character,  and  was 
convinced  that  he  who,  out  of  fear  of  hell,  would 
fulfill  his  dreadful  oath,  would  not  scruple  (ac- 
cording to  the  temper  he  might  be  in)  to  send 
him  into  the  other  world;  and  therefore  the 
physician  took  care  to  be  accompanied  by  a 
number  of  well-armed  dependents.  Arriving 
at  a  place  previously  fixed  on,  the  baron,  who 
had  left  his  attendants  in  the  last  town,  and 
bringing  with  him  only  his  wife  and  Yan, 
awaited  the  meeting  with  the  leech.  It  now  only 
remained  for  the  baron  to  finish  a  drama  which 
had  become  wearisome  to  him,  and  to  prepare 
Amalia  for  a  separation  from  her  eldest  son. 
At  this  moment,  slumbering  love,  or  pity  and 
remorse,  awakened  in  him  :  despair  was  paint- 
ed in  his  face,  when  he  came  to  his  wife  with 
intelligence  of  the  dreadful  sentence.  "  Thou 
art  ill,  my  love,"  said  she,  terrified  by  the  agi- 
tated state  in  which  she  saw  him. 

He  confessed  that  he  had  long  been  suffer- 
ing. Amalia  reproached  him  for  concealing  his 
affliction  from  her  :  she  covered  him  with  her 
tears  and  kisses,  she  consoled  him  with  ex- 
pressions such  as  only  the  fondest  and  most 
anxious  love  could  dictate.  The  baron  confess- 
ed that  his  disease  was  in  the  soul  ....  that 
it  had  commenced  at  the  time  of  their  first 
child's  birth.  .  .  .  He  communicated  to  her  who 
so  passionately  loved  him  the  doubts,  the  fears, 
the  consolations,  the  anger,  the  struggle  of  duty 
with  affection,  the  devotion  to  God  ;  and  whea 
he  had  exhausted  all  feelings,  amidst  the  ten- 
derest  caresses  he  proposed  to  her  the  alterna- 
tive of  losing  her  husband  for  ever,  or  her  child 
for  a  time.  At  length  he  related  his  story  with 
regard  to  Fioraventi ;  he  described  it  as  a  vis- 
itation from  God  ;  he  reminded  her  of  her  suf- 
ferings, and  preparations  for  death  ;  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Italian,  and  the  price  at  which  he 
had  saved  her — by  entering  into  a  dreadful  oath, 
thinkmg  that  the  rapacious  physician  wished  to 
extort  an  extravagant  price  for  his  services. 
By  not  fulfilling  the  oath,  he  would  call  down 
on  himself  the  anger  of  God,  the  destruction  of 
their  son,  and  of  all  their  race.  By  fulfilling  it, 
he  submitted  himself  to  the  will  of  Providence. 
Perhaps  the  Lord  had  sent  them  a  consoling 
angel  in  their  second  son.  The  Italian,  it  might 
be,  would  take  pity  on  them,  and  in  time  remit 
his  sentence.  He  had  already  shown  generos- 
ity in  permitting  them  to  see  their  child  every 
three  vears. 


18 


THE   HERETIC. 


All  tbis  had  been  skilfully  prepared,  and  was 
eloquently  urged  ;  but  what  arguments  can  con- 
quer the  feelings  of  a  mother,  from  whom  they 
are  about  to  take  her  son  T  All  her  soul  was 
centred  in  the  torture  of  this  feeling  —  she 
thought  of  nothing  else,  she  desired  to  know 
nothing  else.  To  retain  her  son  near  her,  she 
would  have  been  ready  to  give  up  rank,  wealth 
— all ;  and  to  become  a  slave.  But  the  non- 
fulfilment  of  the  oath  would  bring  dreadful  mis- 
fortunes on  her  husband;  she  decided  on  the 
sacrifice. 

The  mother  consented  to  all :  she  begged 
only  to  be  allowed  to  give  up  the  child  herself: 
she  still  entertained  the  hope  of  obtaining  some 
concession  from  the  cruel  Fioraventi.  "  He  is 
not  a  tiger,  and  even  a  tiger  would  drop  the 
child  from  its  fangs  on  beholding  the  despair  of 
a  mother."  She  desired  first  to  try  to  touch  the 
Italian  :  she  would  listen  to  no  one,  and  pro- 
ceeded herself  to  the  hut  where  he  was  waiting. 
She  was  slopped  at  the  door.  In  her  humilia- 
tion, she  waited  an  hour  —  two  —  three 

Nothing  would  bend  the  Italian.  At  last  they 
brought  her  a  letter :  —  "  Lady  Baroness,.my 
word  is  immutable.  Pray  to  God  that  I  may 
soon  die  ;  for  unless  I  do,  your  son  will  be  a 
physician.  One  thing  only  I  can  grant  a  moth- 
er, from  whom  I  take  all  her  happiness  ;  that  is, 
to  permit  her  to  see  Antonio  in  my  house,  not 
every  three  years,  as  I  said  to  your  husband, 
but  every  year,  under  the  conditions,  however, 
which  are  probably  known  to  you.  The  infrac- 
tion of  these  conditions  gives  me  the  right  to 
retract  my  indulgence.  This  is  my  last  con- 
cession, and  my  last  word.  At  tho  appointed 
time  I  expect  my  ward  Antonio." 

They  gave  up  their  child  ;  they  parted  from 
him.  The  inother  did  not  die  of  grief,  for  in 
her  heart  was  the  hope  of  seeing  her  son  in  a 
year;  and  with  hope  we  do  not  die.  At  that 
moment  the  physician  —  the  insignificant  leech 
—  saw  the  baroness  at  his  feet.  Intellect  re- 
tained the  mastery. 

The  pair  of  Ehrenstcins  returned  to  Augs- 
burg without  their  eldest  son.  He  had  died, 
they  said,  on  the  journey. 

The  baron,  having  quieted  his  conscience  by 
the  performance  of  his  oath,  did,  in  this  critical 
situation,  every  thing  that  could  be  expected 
Jrom  a  sensible  husband,  and  gave  up  Antony, 
feeling,  when  he  had  done  so,  as  if  a  mountain 
had  been  removed  from  his  heart  Imagination 
gradually  seemed  to  make  his  present  peaceful, 
and  his  future  bright.  Little  by  little,  he  began 
to  forget  his  eldest  son  :  at  first  he  thought  of 
him  as  of  an  object  to  be  pitied  ;  then  as  of  an 
object  remote,  strange  ;  at  last— hateful.  In  a 
year  the  parents  were  permitted  to  see  Antony. 
The  mother  set  out,  alone,  for  this  interview. 
Two  more  years— then  three — and  the  baron's 
heart  had  begun  to  account  of  his  son  as  of  one 
dead.  He  centred  all  his  hopes,  his  love,  on 
his  younger  chdd  ;  but  the  passion  that  hence 
forward  possessed  him  was  ambition..  Em- 
ploying every  artifice  to  gain  each  step  which 
could  elevate  Inm  in  the  favour  of  his  sovereign, 
rehnquishing  for  each  advance  some  feudal 
right,  he  at  length  reached  one  of  the  highest 
places  at  tho  court  of  the  Emperor  Frederick 
HI.  He  became  his  favourite  hy  ceasing  to  bo 
a  man  :  the  higher  he  rose,  the  further  did  he 


spurn  away  from  him  the  memory  of  the  son 
whom  he  had  renounced  ;  that  memory  at  l&st 
totally  vanished  from  his  mind,  like  an  insignif- 
icant speck  swallowed  up  by  the  gloom  of  night. 
If  ever  a  thought  of  Antony  entered  his  mind, 
it  was  only  how  he  might  remove  every  suspi- 
cion of  his  shameful  existence. 

Antony's  mother  remained  the  same  tender 
parent  as  at  the  first  moment  of  his  life ;  what 
do  I  say  1 — her  love  grew  with  his  unhappy  lot. 
Of  the  two  children,  Antony  was,  in  fact,  her 
favourite.  Ferdinand  enjoyed  all  the  rights  of 
birth;  he  was  cherished  every  day  in  his  moth- 
er's bosom,  he  grew  up  in  all  the  luxury  of  pa- 
rental fondness,  the  spoiled  child  of  his  father's 
ostentation.  His  desires  were  guessed,  that 
they  might  be  anticipated.  This  darling  of  des- 
tiny lacked  nothing  from  his  very  birth  ;  but 
the  other  had  hardly  seen  the  light  before  he 
was  exiled  from  the  paternal  house,  from  home, 
despoiled  of  ai\  his  rights,  and  was  growing  up 
in  the  hands  of  a  foreigner,  a  stranger — the  foe 
of  his  family.  The  caress  which  a  mother  lav- 
ished upon  him  —  even  the  privilege  of  seeing 
him  —  was  purchased  from  that  stranger  at  a 
heavy  price  of  humiliation.  How  could  she  but 
love,  and  love. the  most,  this  child  of  misfor- 
tune !  Fate  itself  seemed  to  have  determined 
on  sharing  the  two  children  between  the  father 
and  the  mother  ;  so  complete  was  the  difference 
between  them.  Amalia — unhappy — exiled  from 
her  husband's  heart.  .  .  .  Antony — also  exiled — 
also  unhappy  —  his  features  the  features  of  his 
mother,  his  character  cast  in  the  same  mould, 
as  hers.  He  loved  her  even  more  fondly  thaa 
his  guardian.  Ferdinand,  like  the  baron,  proud, 
vain,  of  an  unsettled  disposition,  resembled  him 
also  in  face  :  he  remarked  his  father's  coldness 
to,  and  sometimes  coarse  treatment  of,  liis 
mother ;  and  he  even  dared,  in  some  uncon- 
trollable sallies  against  her,  to  show  himself 
the  worthy  son  of  his  sire,  and  the  inheritor  of 
all  his  qualities.  He  tortured  animals,  cruelly 
beat  the  horse  on  which  he  rode,  and  the  do- 
mestics who  delayed  to  perform  his  orders  ;  in- 
sulted, in  imitation  of  his  father,  the  court  fool 
and  court  physician  —  Master  Leon,  as  he  was 
called  —  and  once  set  his  dogs  upon  him.  He 
showed  no  inclination  to  learn,  and  was  addict- 
ed only  to  athletic  sports.  How  many  rea- 
sons were  there — not  to  speak  of  misfortunes — 
to  prefer  the  eldest  son  to  this  ! 

Years  passed  on,  in  the  full  performance  of 
the  promises  interchanged  by  the  parents  and 
the  instructor  of  Antony  —  in  the  rapture  of 
the  periodical  meeting  and  in  the  tears  of  the 
periodical  separation,  which  seemed  to  the 
mother's  heart  an  age.  But  the  more  she  for- 
got her  afflictions  in  her  love  for  the  dear  exile, 
in  his  attachment  to  his  mother,  in  the  noble 
qualities  of  his  heart  and  intellect,  the  more 
sedulous  grew  the  baron  in  inventing  new  sor- 
rows for  her.  She  was  ordered  to  assure  An- 
tony of  his  father's  death  ;  a  sentence  which 
announced  to  her  that  her  son  had  for  ever  lost 
him  as  a  parent  :  wo  may  .judge  what  the  moth- 
er must  have  felt  in  communicating  this  false 
intelligence  to  her  child.  Nevertheless,  she 
obeyed  the  will  of  her  lord  and  master,  secretly 
indulging  the  hope  that  lime  might  change  his 
sentiments.  The  child  who  had  never  known 
a  father's  love,  received  the  intelligence  of  lus 


THE   HERETIC. 


10 


death  as  of  that  of  a  stranger.  Ferdinand  at- 
tained his  twenty-third  year  :  he  caught  cold, 
was  attacked  by  a  violent  fever,  and  died. 
This  misfortune,  sent  by  Heaven  as  if  to  pun- 
ish the  cruel  father  and  husband,  overwhelmed 
him.  It  seemed  as  though  this  loss  was  likely 
to  recall  his  love  for  his  eldest  son  ;  but  no  !  he 
remained  as  nmch  estranged  -from  him  as  be- 
fore. 

In  the  mean  time  Antony  grew  up,  and  was 
educated  at  Padua,  under  the  name  of  a  poor 
German  noble,  Ehrenstein.  Handsome,  clever, 
easily  accessible  to  all  impressions  of  virtue 
and  enlightenment,  exhibiting  in  all  his  actions 
an  elevated  feeling,  and  a  kind  of  chivalric  ad- 
venturousness,  he  was  the  delight  of  Fioraven- 
ti.  With  advancing  years,  he  became  enam- 
oured of  the  science  to  which  his  instructor  had 
devoted  him ;  the  young  candidate  gave  him- 
self up  to  it  with  all  the  zeal  of  an  ardent  and 
lofty  soul.  No  avaricious  views  were  those 
which  led  him  to  the  altar  of  science,  but  love 
of  humanity  and  thirst  for  knowledge.  But  he 
had  one  important  fault,  originating  in  the  char- 
acter of  his  own  mind,  and  of  the  epoch  in  which 
he  lived.  This  was  an  ardent  and  visionary 
turn  of  mind,  irrepressible  till  gratified.  "  That 
is  like  my  brother  Alberto,  who  is  in  Muscovy," 
said  Fioraventi,  reproving  him  for  this  fault  : 
"  he  is  gone  to  build  a  wondrous  temple  in  a 
savage  country,  where  they  know^  not  yet  how 
to  burn  bricks  and  make  mortar."  "  I  envy 
him,"  cried  the  youth;  "he  does  not  crawl, 
step  by  step,  along  the  same  road  as  the  crowd  ; 
he  flaps  the  wing  of  genius,  and  soars  far  above 
the  common  race  of  mortals  :  and  even  if  he 
falls,  he  has  at  least  aspired  to  heaven.  He  is 
consoled  by  the  thought  that  he  lias  vanquished 
the  Material,  and  will  build  for  himself  a  death- 
less monument,  which  even  our  Italy  will 
adore  !"  These  visions,  thought  Fioraventi, 
will  pass  away  in  time  ;  with  the  desire  of  per- 
fecting himself  will  come  experience  —  and  he 
looked  on  his  pupil  with  the  delight  of  a  father, 
and  with  the  pride  of  an  instructor.  To  make 
him  a  famous  physician — to  present  him  to  so- 
ciety a  member  more  useful  than  a  petty  baron, 
perhaps  altogether  insignificant  —  to  give  sci- 
ence new  progress,  to  history  a  new  name  — 
these  were  the  thoughts  and  hopes  with  which 
he  quieted  his  conscience. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-five,  Antony  Ehrenstein 
completed  his  medical  course  at  the  university 
of  Padua.  Antony  a  physician  —  Fioraventi's 
revenge  was  satisfied.  At  this  time,  he  con- 
sented to  his  pupil's  desire  to  travel  in  Italy. 
The  young  physician  set  off  for  Milan  :  there 
he  intended  to  hear,  from  the  lips  of  the  cele- 
brated Niccola  di  Montano,  those  lessons  of  el- 
oquence and  philosophy  that  were  then  consid- 
ered as  the  only  conductors  to  all  science,  and 
which  kings  themselves  condescended  to  at- 
tend. Instead  of  these  lectures,  he  heard  the 
sound  of  the  lash  inflicted  on  the  learned  man 
by  his  former  pupil,  the  Duke  of  Milan,  Galeaz- 
zo  Sforza.  Instead  of  the  numerous  audience 
of  Di  Montano,  he  saw  the  unwilling  victims 
given  over,  by  the  voluptuous  and  haughty  ty- 
rant, to  the  insults  of  his  courtly  slaves  and 
flatterers.  He  saw  them  scoffing  at  humanity, 
and  overwhelming  their  fellow-creatures  with 
humiliation.    At  Rome  the  same  depravity  — 


the  fagot,  the  dagger,  and  the  poison  at  every 
step.  As  Antony  proceeded  on  his  journey,  he 
saw  every  where  sedition,  scantily  relieved  with 
the  exploits  of  the  select  few,  and  every  where 
the  triumph  of  the  ignorant  mob  and  of  brute 
force.  How  was  it  possible  for  a  virgin  mind, 
with  all  its  love  for  what  was  noble  and  virtu- 
ous, to  look  with  patience  on  the  spectacle  of 
such  a  world!  Filled  with  indignation,  he  re- 
turned to  Padua :  the  only  consolation  he  brought 
home  with  him  was  the  recollection  of  his  friend- 
ship'with  Lionardo  da  Vinci,  who  had  become 
attached  to  him  as  to  a  son.  Accident  had 
brought  them  together :  the  artist,  meeting  him, 
had  Been  so  struck  with  the  union  of  physical 
and  intellectual  beauty  in  his  face,  that  he  had 
endeavoured  to  attract  him  to  his  studio.  In 
more  than  one  figure  of  a  heavenly  messenger, 
on  the  canvass  of  Lionardo  da  Vinci,  we  may 
recognise  Antony.  From  this  famous  painter 
he  learned  anatomy.  On  leaving  Italy,  he  went 
to  see  his  mother  in  the  poor  Bohemian  castle, 
on  the  bank  of  the  Elbe,  which  she  had  bought 
solely  for  the  interviews  with  her  son,  and  for 
his  future  visits :  this,  she  informed  him,  was 
the  whole  of  his  family  possessions.  Here  he 
remained  nearly  a  year,  occasionally  visiting 
Prague  and  its  university,  then  a  celebrated  one. 

Soon  after  his  return  to  Padua,  Fioraventi 
received  a  letter  from  Muscovy,  through  the 
Russian  envoy  then  at  Venice.  This  letter 
was  from  his  brother  Rudolph  Alberti,  surnam- 
ed  Aristotle,  a  famous  architect,  who  had  been 
for  some  time  residing  at  the  court  of  the  Mus- 
covite Great  Prince,  Ivan  III.,  Vassilievitch. 
The  artist  begged  his  brother  to  send  a  physi- 
cian to  Moscow,  where  he  would  be  awaited  by 
honours,  wealth,  and  fame. 

Fioraventi  began  to  look  out  for  a  physician 
who  would  volunteer  into  a  country  so  distant 
and  so  little  known  :  he  never  thought  of  pro- 
posing the  journey  to  his  pupil :  his  youth — the 
idea  of  a  separation — of  a  barbarous  country — 
all  terrified  the  old  man.  His  imagination  was 
no  longer  wild  —  the  intellect  and  the  heart 
alone  had  influence  on  him.  And  what  had 
Antony  to  hope  for  there  ^  His  destiny  was 
assured  by  the  position  of  his  instructor — his 
tranquillity  was  secured  by  circumstances — he 
could  more  readily  make  a  name  in  Italy.  The 
place  of  physician  at  the  court  of  the  Muscovite 
Great  Prince  would  suit  a  poor  adventurer  ; 
abundance  of  such  men  might  be  found  at  that 
time  possessed  of  talents  and  learning.  But 
hardly  was  Aristotle's  letter  communicated  to 
Antony,  than  visions  began  to  float  in  his  ar- 
dent brain.  "To  Muscovy!"  cried  the  voice 
of  destiny — "To  Muscovy!"  echoed  through 
his  soul,  like  a  cry  remembered  from  infancy. 
That  soul,  in  its  fairest  dreams,  had  long  pined 
for  a  new,  distant,  unknown  land  and  people : 
Antony  wished  to  be  where  the  physician's  foot 
iiad  never  yet  penetrated  :  perhaps  he  might 
discover,  by  questioning  a  nature  still  rude  and 
fresh,  powers  by  which  he  could  retain  on  earth 
its  short-Uved  inhabitants  ;  perhaps  he  ijiight 
extort  from  a  virgin  soil  the  secret  of  regenera- 
tion, or  dig  up  the  fountain  of  the  water  of  life 
and  death.  But  he  who  desired  to  penetrate 
deeper  into  the  nature  of  man  might  have  re- 
marked other  motives  in  his  desire.  Did  not 
knightly  blood  boil  in  his  veins  1     Did  not  the 


20 


THE   HERETIC. 


spirit  of  adventure  whisper  in  his  heart  its 
hopes  and  high  promises  ?  However  this  might 
be,  he  offered,  with  dehght,  to  go  to  Muscovy  ; 
and  when  he  received  the  refusal  of  his  pre- 
ceptor, lie  began  to  entreat,  to  implore  him  in- 
cessantly to  recall  it.  "  Science  calls  me  thith- 
er," he  said;  "do  not  deprive  her  of  new  ac- 
quisitions, perhaps  of  important  discoveries. 
Do  not  deprive  me  of  glory,  my  only  hope  and 
happiness."  And  these  entreaties  were  follow- 
ed by  a  new  refusal.  "  Knowest  thou  not," 
cried  Fioravenii,  angrily,  "that  the  gales  of 
Muscovy  are  like  the  gates  of  hell — step  beyond 
them,  and  thou  canst  never  return."  But  sud- 
denly, unexpectedly,  from  some  secret  motive, 
he  ceased  to  oppose  Antony's  desire.  "With 
tears  he  gave  him  his  blessing  for  the  journey. 
"  Who  can  tell,"  said  he,  "  that  this  is  not  the 
■will  of  fate  ]  Perhaps,  in  reality,  honour  and 
fame  await  thee  there." 

At  Padua  was  soon  known  Antony  Ehren- 
stein's  determination  to  make  that  distant  jour- 
ney ;  and  no  one  was  surprised  at  it  :  there 
were,  indeed,  many  who  envied  him. 

In  truth,  the  age  in  which  Antony  lived  was 
calculated  to  attune  the  mind  to  the  search  af- 
ter the  unknown,  and  to  serve  as  an  excuse  for 
his  visions.  The  age  of  deep  profligacy,  it  was 
also  the  age  of  lofty  talents,  of  bold  enterprises, 
of  great  discoveries.  They  dug  into  the  bow- 
els of  the  earth  ;  they  kept  up  in  the  laboratory 
an  unextinguished  fire  ;  they  united  and  separ- 
ated elements ;  they  buried  themselves  living, 
in  tiie  tomb,  to  discover  the  philosopher's  stone, 
and  they  found  it  in  the  innumerable  treasures 
of  chemistry  which  they  bequeathed  to  posteri- 
ty. Nicholas  Diaz  and  Vasco  de  Gama  had 
passed,  with  one  gigantic  stride,  from  one  hem- 
isphere to  another,  and  showed  that  millions  of 
their  predecessors  were  but  pigmies.  The  ge- 
nius of  a  third  visioncd  forth  a  new  world,  with 
new  oceans — went  to  it,  and  brought  it  to  man- 
kind. Gunpowder,  the  compass,  printing,  cheap 
paper,  regular  armies,  the  concentration  of 
stales  and  powers,  ingenious  destruction,  and 
ingenious  creation — all  were  the  work  of  this 
wondrous  age.  At  this  time,  also,  there  began 
to  spread  indistinctly  about,  in  Germany  and 
many  other  countries  of/Europe,  those  ideas  of 
reformation,  which  soon  were  strengthened,  by 
the  persecution  of  the  Western  Church,  to  array 
themselves  in  the  logical  head  t)f  Luther,  and 
to  llaiue  up  in  that  universal  crater,  whence  the 
fury,  lava,  and  smoke,  were  to  rush  with  such 
tremendous  violence  on  kingdoms  and  nations. 
These  ideas  were  then  spreading  through  the 
multitude,  and  when  resisted,  they  broke  through 
their  dikes,  and  burst  onward  with  grcatre  vio- 
lence. The  character  of  Antony,  eager,  thirst- 
ing for  novelty,  was  the  expression  of  his  age  : 
litt  abandoned  himself  to  the  dreams  of  an  ar- 
d(Mit  soul,  and  only  sought  whither  to  carry 
himself  and  his  accumulations  of  knowledge. 

Muscovy,  wild  still,  but  swelling  into  vigour, 
wiili  all  her  bnundless  snows  and  forests,  the 
mystery  of  her  orientalism,  was  to  many  a  new- 
ly discovered  land — a  rich  mine  for  human  ge- 
nius. Muscovy,  then  for  the  first  time  beginning 
III  gam  mastery  over  her  internal  and  external 
fots,  thin  first  felt  the  necessity  for  real,  mate- 
rial rivili/ation. 

Among  iho  family  of  arts  and  trades  which 


came  at  her  call,  the  first  were  architecture, 
painting,  and  the  art  of  founding  bells  and  can- 
non. In  military  affairs  they  began  to  call  in 
the  power  of  firearms  in  aid  of  the  force  of  their 
muscles.  The  temples  demanded  greater  mag- 
nificence, the  princess  and  boyarins  required 
greater  convenience  and  security  from  confla- 
gration. All  these  wants  Ivan  III.,  Vassflie- 
vitch,  fostered  and  gratified,  looking  already  on 
Russia  with  the  eye  and  the  intentions  of  a  Tsar. 
Perhaps  the  marriage-ring  of  the  last  descend- 
ant of  the  Palaeologi  had  strengthened  his  innate 
love  for  the  splendour  of  royal  life,  if  not  a  pas- 
sion for  art  and  science.  Sophia  talked  to  him 
of  the  wondrous  palaces  and  temples  of  Italy, 
of  the  magnificence  of  the  courts  of  that  coun- 
try ;  and  in  these  recitals  she  pointed  out  to 
him  the  means  of  realizing  those  ideas  of  exter- 
nal grandeur  which  were  already  stirring  in  the 
sovereign's  head  and  heart.  Never  could  the 
wants  of  the  Russians  in  this  respect  have 
been  better  satisfied:  into  Italy  were  thronging 
crowds  of  learned  men,  terrified  by  the  Ottoman 
sword  ;  Italy,  in  her  turn,  hastened  to  share 
with  other  nations  the  overplus  of  treasures  and 
endowments  brought  to  her  by  the  descendants 
of  Phidias  and  Archimedes.  Poverty,  boldness, 
and  love  of  the  beautiful,  brought  these  treas- 
ures hither  :  architects,  founders,  painters, 
sculptors,  workers  in  gold  and  silver,  crowded 
to  Moscow. 

"  No  one  has  heard  as  yet  of  any  distinguish- 
ed physician  having  visited  Muscovy  ;  but  what 
good  might  he  not  do  there  !  .  .  .  .  For  a  phy- 
sician the  task  of  enlightenment  is  more  easy, 
more  ready,  than  for  any  one  else  :  man  is  al- 
ways willing  to  be  instructed  by  his  benefactor. 
The  Russian  people  is  young,  fresh,  conse- 
quently ready  to  receive  all  that  is  noble  and 
sublime,"  thought  Antony:  "to  Moscow,  An- 
tony !  thither  with  your  ardent  soul,  your  vir- 
gin hopes,  with  your  learned  experience — thith- 
er, to  this  Columbia  of  the  East  I" 

The  young  physician  was  followed  from  Pa- 
dua by  the  affection  of  his  learned  preceptors, 
by  wishes  for  his  success — by  the  love  of  all 
who  knew  him.  He  was  followed,  too,  by  the 
regrets  of  the  passionate  maidens  of  Italy  :  if  he 
had  remained,  many  a  white  and  delicate  wrist 
would  have  been  held  out  to  the  young  leech, 
that  he  might  mark  in  it  the  beating  of  the  pul- 
ses that  were  quickened  by  his  touch.  How 
many  secret  consultations  were  preparing  for 
him  !  And,  in  truth,  it  was  not  science,  it  was 
not  the  bachelor's  diploma,  that  caused  these 
regrets  ;  ye  gods  !  what  science  !  ....  A  pair 
of  blue  eyes,  full  of  fire  and  attractive  pensivc- 
ness,  flaxen  curls  as  soft  and  waving  as  a  lamb's 
fleece  ;  the  fair  complexion  of  the  north,  a  form 
magnificently  miuililcd.  What  more  !  And 
that  youthful  bashliilness  which  it  is  so  enchant- 
ing to  subdue.  That  the  taste  of  the  Italian 
women  is  just,  is  proved  by  their  countrymen. 
On  meeting  the  German  bachelor,  the  artists 
fixed  on  him  an  eager  and  admiring  look  :  the 
eye  of  Lmnardo  da  Vinci  knew  well  how  to  ap- 
preciate the  beautiful.  In  spile,  however,  of  the 
seductions  of  the  Italian  sirens,  the  burning 
challenges  of  their  eyes  and  lips,  the  bouquet  of 
flowers  and  fruits  thrown  on  him,  after  the  cus- 
tom of  the  country,  from  their  windows,  Antony 
Ehrenstein  carried  from  Italy  a  heart  free  from 
all  passion  and  every  sensual  slain. 


THE   HERETIC. 


21 


Fioraventi  bade  farewell  to  his  pupil  with 
many  and  bitter  tears  ;  acconapanying  him  as 
far  as  the  Bohemian  castle.  He  supplied  him 
not  only  with  every  necessary  for  his  journey, 
but  with  every  means  for  presenting  himself 
with  brilliancy  at  the  court  of  the  Muscovite 
sovereign. 

If  there  were  a  paradise  upon  earth,  Antony 
would  have  found  it  in  the  whole  month  which 
he  passed  in  the  Bohemian  castle.  Oh  !  be 
would  not  have  exchanged  that  poor  abode,  the 
wild  nature  on  the  banks  of  Elbe,  the  caresses 
of  his  mother,  whose  age  he  would  have  cher- 
ished with  his  care  and  love — no  !  he  would  not 
have  exchanged  all  this  for  magnificent  palaces, 
for  the  exertions  of  proud  kinsmen  to  elevate 
him  at  the  imperial  court,  for  numberless  vas- 
sals, whom,  if  he  chose,  he  might  hunt  to  death 
with  hounds. 

But  true  to  his  vow,  full  of  the  hope  of  being 
useful  to  bis  mother,  to  science,  and  to  human- 
ity, the  visionary  renounced  this  paradise  :  his 
mother  blessed  him  on  his  long  journey  to  a 
distant  and  unknown  land  ;  she  feared  for  him  ; 
yet  she  saw  that  Muscovy  would  be  to  him  a 
land  of  promise — and  how  could  she  oppose  his 
wishes  1 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE    PLOT. 
"  Fate's  heavy  hand  hath  press'd  thee  sore, 
And  life  is  ang-uish  to  thee  ; 
But  I  have  means  to  end  the  woe 
That  o'er  thy  head  doth  lower. 
Thy  Maker  is  thy  fellest  foe  : 

Trust  to  Asmodeus'  power  .... 
With  heart  and  hand  I'll  ^uard  thy  weal, 
Even  as  friend  and  brother." 

Joukoffskoi — Gromoboi. 

"Thus  they  their  compact  made  for  mutual  assistance." 

Khmaylnitzkoi. 

The  Feast  of  St.  Hierasimus  was  come,  the 
4th  of  March,  the  day  when  first  appear  the 
cawing  harbingers  of  bounteous  Spring  ;  but 
the  rooks  had  not  yet  arrived,  as  though  Win- 
ter, grown  proud  or  lazy,  had  refused  to  stir, 
and  yield  his  reign  to  his  joyous  rival.  The 
day  was  just  breaking.  At  a  mill-dam,  situated 
near  the  pool  of  Neglinnaia,  two  horsemen 
might  be  seen  to  meet,  apparently  two  boyarins. 
They  then  began  to  direct  their  path  to  the 
Kreml,  towards  the  Borovitchi  gate.  It  would 
appear  almost  impossible  to  bring  together  two 
beings  so  unlike  each  other  in  point  of  exterior  ; 
nevertheless,  a  penetrating  glance  migbt  have 
detected  in  each  of  them  a  character  cast  in 
the  same  mould,  with  some  of  those  inconsid- 
erable differences  which  Nature  so  lavishly  ex- 
hibits. 

Have  you  ever  seen  Petr6ff  in  Robert  le  Dia- 
ble  ?  Of  course  you  have.  I  have  seen  him 
but  once  in  that  part  ;  but  to  this  day,  when- 
ever I  think  of  him,  I  fancy  I  can  hear  those 
accents,  like  echoes  from  hell  — "  Yes,  Ber- 
tram !  r  and  I  behold  that  look  from  which,  as 
from  the  storied  fascination  of  the  rattlesnake, 
your  mind  can  hardly  free  itself— that  saffron- 
coloured  countenance,  writhen  by  the  trace  of 
passions— and  that  forest  of  hair,  from  which  a 
nest  of  serpents  seems  ready  to  creep  forth. 
Now,  clothe  that  Petroff  in  the  ancient  Russian 
dress,  belt  him  with  a  silver  girdle,  in  a  rich 


shouba  of  fox-skin,  and  a  high  cap  of  soft  fur 
and  you  will  immediately  have  before  you  one 
of  the  two  persons  who  were  riding  along  the 
mill-dam  of  Negh'nnaia.  He  was  mounted  on 
a  powerful  steed,  accoutred  with  a  Circassiaa 
saddle,  caparisoned  with  jingling  ornaments  in 
arabesque,  llowered  in  silver,  and  bordered  with 
fish  teeth.  The  other  horseman  was  a  little 
lean  personage,  with  sunken  eyes,  a  starveling 
face,  and  gestures  so  subdued  and  timid,  that 
he  seemed  afraid  of  so  much  as  disturbing  the 
air  ;  so  obsequious  and  cringing — a  real  lamb  ! 
,  .  .  .  But  though  he  seemed  to  creep  out  stealth- 
ily from  under  his  shell  into  the  light  of  heav- 
en, and  peered  askance  around  him  from  half- 
opened  eyes,  yet,  believe  me,  he  could  mark  his 
victim  with  a  hawk's  glance  ;  swiftly  would  he 
pounce  on  it,  and  rapidly  again  he  vvould  hide 
himself  in  his  dark,  obscene  covert.  Taking 
off  his  cap,  which  was  rather  shabby,  (ibis  he 
did,  as  well  as  his  companion,  very  frequently, 
on  passing  every  church,  before  which  the  Rus- 
sian Bertram  crossed  himself  rapidly,  while  the 
meek  man  made  the  holy  sign  earnestly,  stri- 
king his  breast  the  while)— taking  off  his  cap, 
he  uncovered  a  head  fringed  irregularly  with 
ragged  tufts  of  hair.  As  if  to  be  of  a  piece  with 
his  locks,  the  edge  of  his  shouba  was  so  worn 
that  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  determine 
what  animal  had  supplied  the  fur  of  which  it 
was  made.  A  starved  jade  of  a  horse,  with 
caparisons  suitable  to  its  wretchedness,  scram- 
bled and  tottered  along  under  him.  He  was 
much  older  than  his  companion  —  the  latter 
might  be  rather  more  than  forty,  and  was  in 
the  full  vigour  of  life — the  former  seemed  a  de- 
crepit old  man.  The  one  was  a  boyarin  ;  the 
other,  a  boyarin  and  dvoretzkoi  (major-domo) 
to  the  Great  Prince.  These  gentlemen  bore 
names  well  suited  to  their  nature  :  the  first  was 
called  Mamon  ;  the  second,  Roussalka.* 

"  Is  God  still  good  to  thee,  Mikhail  Yakovle- 
vitch  ]"  asked  Mamon. 

"Thanks  to  thy  prayers,  brother  Grigorii 
Andreevitch,"  replied  Roussalka;  "or  else  the 
earth  would  not  bear  me  with  the  weight  of  my 
sins." 

"  The  Lord  alone  is  sinless." 

"  The  Lord  in  heaven  ;  and  add,  our  lord  the 
Great  Prince  of  all  Russia." 

"  It  seemeth  he  hath  taken  thee  bad:  into 
favour." 

Here  Mamon  glanced  cunningly  at  his  com- 
panion. The  latter,  without  the  least  sign  of 
vexation,  replied — "  Where  there  is  wrath,  there 
also  is  mercy :  to  one  he  giveth  to-day,  to  an- 
other to-morrow ;  one  man  sinketh,  another 
svvimmeth  ;  all  the  difficulty  is  to  know  how  to 
catch  him,  kinsman." 

"  One  may  catch ;  but  he  slippeth  through 
one's  fingers.  What  have  I  and  thou  gained  1 
Castles  m  the  air,  and  the  nickname  of  inform- 
ers  A  rare   gain  !     Look   at  the   other 

boyarins.  Look  no  further  than  Obrazetz  ! 
He  hath  built  himself  a  fine  stone  palace,  so 
high  that  it  overlooketh  the  Kreml." 

"  They  say,  he  meteth  out  his  rose-nobles  by 
bushels.     Where   is   the   wonder,   then  ?     He 


*  Roussdlka—a.n  evil  spirit,  haunting  the  sea  with  comb 
and  mirror,  like  our  mermaid  ;  but  occasionally  met  with 
also  in  the  forests  and  rivers,  as  the  "  Nckka"  of  Denmark. 
-T.  B.  S. 


THE  HERETIC. 


scraped  it  up  at  Novgorod — no  offence  to  his 
grace  !  The  Lord  keep  us  from  that  sin  !" 
(here  he  crossed  himself.)  "  War  plunder  is 
fair  plunder." 

"  'Tis  no  sin  to  break  a  cursed  cow's  horn. 
The  proud  Shel6netz,  he  thinketh  no  man  his 
mate  !" 

"  How  is  it  that  thy  son  is  no  mate  for  his 
daughter,  in  birth  and  rank,  in  brains  and 
beauty?" 

Mam6n's  eyes  gleamed.  He  had  just  de- 
manded the  voevoda  Obrazetz's  daughter  in  j 
marriage  for  his  son,  and  received  a  refusal. 
There  were  reports  that  it  was  because  the 
mother  of  this  Mam6n  was  a  witch,  and  had 
been  burned.*  At  Roussalka's  words,  he  felt 
as  if  his  cap  had  been  on  fire  :  he  pressed  it 
down  with  a  mighty  hand,  and  replied,  smiling 
bitterly — "  Thou  hast  heard  it,  then  V 

"  I  alone,  think'st  thou  V 

"Not  thou  alone?  .  .  .  ay,  others  .  .  .  many 
...  all  Moscow  !" 

"  This  world  is  full  of  reports,  good  Grig6rii 
Andreevitch." 

"  What  !  they  laugh  !  .  .  .  they  say,  whither 
■would  the  witch-brood  thrust  itself?  ...  Ha  ! 
they  prate?  ....  Speak,  good  friend,  I  pray 
thee." 

"  'Twere  a  sin  to  hide  it Obrazetz 

himself  vauntcth"  .... 

"  Vaunteth  !  accursed  hound  !  .  .  .  .  But 
thou,  good  brother,  didst  thou  not  put  in  a  lit- 
tle word  for  me  ?"  .  .  .  . 

"  I  racked  my  brain  ....  I  worked  the  voe- 
voda behind  his  back.  My  soul  was  in  the 
•work.  I  put  all  my  persuasion  on  my  tongue. 
....  I  said  that  Obrazetz  had  sent  the  svat* 
to  thee,  and"  .... 

"  Sent  or  not,  what  care  I !  .  .  .  .  Look, 
brander  !"t  added  Mamon,  shaking  his  fist  to- 
wards the  house  of  the  voevoda  Obrazetz, 
*'  deeply  hast  thou  seared  thy  brand  in  my 
breast ;  I  will  tear  it  off,  though  it  drag  a  mass 
of  my  flesh  with  it— I  will  dress  it  daintily  with 
poison  ....  strong  poison  !....!  will  serve 
it  up  on  no  common  dish,  but  on  silver  .... 
thou  shalt  cat  it,  and  praise  the  cook  !  Thou 
■wilt  help,  Mikhail  Yakovlevitch  ?  Ay,  good 
faith,  thou  wilt  !  .  .  .  .  Feast  for  feast.  He 
hath  feasted  thee,  too,  right  well  ....  at  his 
house-warming,  hath  he  not?" 

It  was  now  Roussalka's  turn.  His  face  was 
convulsed  :  he  began  to  twitch  his  eyelids  :  it 
■was  evident  he  was  touched  to  the  quick.  He, 
however,  by  a  violent  effort  remained  silent. 
His  companion  continued  to  cast  on  him  a 
glance  of  mockery.  "  And  the  feast  was  for  all 
comers  !  Many  a  barrel  of  mead  did  they  roll 
out  of  the  cellar  ;  many  a  grave  head  sank  below 
the  table ;  and  they  brought  round  rosc-noblos  to 
the  g\iests,  in  memory  of  the  bancjuet  ....  Wert 
thou  bidden,  dvoretzkoi  of  the  Great  Prince?" 

Nothing  could  so  deeply  move  the  greedy 
soul  of  the  dvori'tzkoi  as  the  being  reminded  of 
lost  gain.    He  seemed  to  be  agitated,  and  an- 

♦  By  inn  Andrtevitoh,  Princo  of  MojAisk.— iYo<«  of  the 
Aulltor. 

i  Nval—a  iwnioii  wlio  makes  for  another  a  propoenl  of 
imimnuo  ;  marriage  broker.  This  duty  waa  called  tva- 
tovilv6.—T.  B.  S. 

t  An  ofTiour  whoso  duty  it  was  to  brand  horses,  and  col- 
Wl  a  tax  for  the  crown,  or  for  monasteries.— iVotc  of  the 
Author. 


swered  with  a  sigh— "What  should  I  have  done 
amooig  the  warriors  of  the  Shelon  !  I  have  nev- 
er flayed  off  the  skins  of  captive  Novgorodet- 
zes."  (He  alluded  to  the  Prince  Daniel  Dmi- 
trievitch  Kh61mskoi.)  "  We  have  never  led  a 
youngster  son,  a  weak  child,  beneath  the  cru- 
sader's sword.  No  child-angel  can  accuse  us  ! 
We  have  never  torn  a  child  from  its  mother  to 
slaughter  1"  (Here  he  hinted  at  Obrazetz  him- 
self) "  What  can  wc  do  ?  We  are  afraid  to  kill 
a  chicken  I  How  should  we,  then,  presume  to 
thrust  ourselves  into  the  throng  of  valiant  war- 
riors, whose  arms,  God  forgive  them  !  are  up  to 
the  elbows  in  blood  ? 

"  No  !  we  will  not  kill  a  chicken,  whose  neck 
we  can  twist ;  but  we  will  bend  our  bow,  and 
let  fly  a  sharp  arrow  at  the  vulture  that  is  soar- 
ing on  high  :  .  .  .  .  'twill  be  rare  to  see  him 
tumble  !  'Tis  useless  to  conceal  sin  :  'lis  a 
mortal  feud  with  both  of  us  :  false  humility  is 
worse  than  pride  :  'tis  but  a  sheep  that  will 
bow  its  head  under  the  knife.  '  An  eye  for  an 
eye,  a  tooth  for  a  fooh,'  saith  the  Scripture: 
we  are  but  sinful  men  !  In  my  mind,  for  one 
eye  should  be  plucked  out  two — for  one  tooth, 
not  one  should  be  left  behind — even  if  it  gave 
thy  soul  to  %Satanas  !" 

Roussalka  spat,  crossed  himself,  and  mur- 
mured— "  God  forgive  us  I" 

"  It  is  not  prayers,  but  craft,  that  I  expect 
from  my  counsellor  and  friend.  Thy  head  doth 
not  burn  nor  whirl  like  mine.  Thou  shalt  stand 
up  for  me,  I  for  thee.  There  are  those  who 
will  second  both  of  us  —  we  will  answer  for 
them  —  all  round,  come  what  may  !  In  other 
lands,  as  our  travellers  say,  nobles  rein  not 
themselves  too  hard." 

Roussalka  continued,  with  a  fiendish  smile — 
"  I  will  not  hide  from  thee,  good  brother !  .  .  .  . 
I  was  telling  to  our  Prince  a  poor  thought  of 
my  brain  ;  'twill  be  as  good  to  the  voevoda  as 
a  stroke  with  a  club.  Hast  thou  heard  !  There 
cometh  from  Germany  the  leech  Antony,  very 
skilful  in  the  cure  of  all  manner  of  diseases:  he 
is  now  three  days'  journey  off."  .... 

"What  of  that?" 

"  This,  thou  hotbrain  !  Obrazetz  hath  a  new 
stone  palace,  finely  built,  and — thou  mayest  say 
— it  shall  fall  upon  his  head.  He  hath  pulled 
down  his  rotten  wooden  house  :  he  hath  no- 
where to  go.  Our  fair  lord,  the  Great  Prince, 
in  case  of  any  ill  event — from  which  God  keep 
Ivan  Vassflievitch  every  hour  of  his  life  !— he 
willeth  I  say,  that  the  leech  should  be  lodged 
near  the  palace.  From  thence  to  Obrazetz's 
house  is  not  a  stone's  throw.  Now  the  leech 
Antony — an  unclean  Almaync — must"  .... 

"Must  be  lodged  in  the  voevoda's  palace  !" 
burst  in  Mamon,  with  a  voice  of  delight ;  "  will 
take  his  best  chambers  —  armory,  hall,  and 
dortour  ....  An  Almayne  will  be  worse  in  his 
house  than  an  unclean  spirit !  You  may  smoke 
him  with  incense  —  ye  may  exorcise  him  with 
holy  water;  but  this  friend,  once  placed  there 
by  loanii  Vassflievitch,  ye  will  never  conjure 
out  with  all  your  power.  The  master  himself 
must  run.    But  is  such  the  Great  Prince's  will?" 

"  I  will   answer  for  that,  good  brother !     I 

will  expound  unto  thee Today  I  speak 

against  thee  —  to-morrow,  thou  against  me  — 
one  against  the  other.  Let  us  shake  the  boughs, 
but  not  touch  the  root.     I  am  safe,  thou  art 


THE   HERETIC. 


&3 


«afe,  and  our  little  matters  are  done.  Obra- 
■zetz,  thou  knowest,  had  a  brawl  with  the  Al- 
mayne  ambassador  in  the  audience-chamber, 
loann  Vassilievitch  looked  not  too  lovingly  on 
him  then  ;  and  the  voevoda  bad  fallen  into  dis- 
Tavour  but  that  the  battle  of  Shelon  was  still 
warm  in  the  prince's  memory  ....  And  so  ...  . 
he  is  still  well  with  him.  But  if  thou  hearken- 
'est  with  thine  ear  at  the  Great  Prince's  heart — 
oh!  it  boiletlv  it  seetheth  with  anger  against 
him  ;  and  he  will  not  be  easy  till  it  boil  over  on 
the  fiery  boyarin,  until  he  hath  paid  him,  Al- 
«iayne  for  Almayne.   We  have  but  to  hint"  .... 

Mamon  reined  in  his  steed,  took  off  his  bon- 
net, and,  lowering  it,  made  a  profound  obeisance, 
as  if  acknowledging  the  other's  Satanic  superi- 
ority. 

The  latter,  smiling  in  his  turn,  raised  his  own 
cap,  and  continued — "  We  are  friends  ;  we  will 
settle  our  accounts  hereafter,  good  brother  Gri- 
gorii  Andreevitch." 

"  We  have  settled  them  already,  if  thou  wilt 
confess  my  services.  Let  us  talk  freely.  But 
now  thou  wert  speaking  of  the  matter  of  the 
Prince  Loukomskii,  of  his  interpreter." 

"  God  watch  over  loann  Vassilievitch,  and 
the  good  Russian  land  !  .  .  The  Lithuanian  was 
sent  by  his  King,  Kazimir,  to  take  off  loann  Vas- 
silievitch— a  slave  informed — the  poison  was 
found.  What  is  easier  than  to  take  sanctuary 
in  Lithuania,  where  every  man  findeth  refuge 
who  Cometh  under  the  wrath  of  our  good  lord  !" 

"  I  put  Loukomskii  to  the  question,  and  the 
interpreter — they  would  confess  nothing.  I 
sent  for  some  old  women — made  them  lick  the 
poison.  I  crammed  a  good  dose  of  it  down  the 
throat  of  one.  I  gave  some  to  a  dog — neither 
hag  nor  hound  died." 

"  And  what  next,  brother  1"  asked  Roussalka, 
anxiously. 

"  Next  !  .  .  .  .  when  thou  madest  the  trial  . 
.  .  .  the  same  dog  burst  with  one  grain  of  it. 
I  made  all  fast  with  a  good  hempen  cord  ;  dost 
thou  mark  !  Fear  not.  I  will  not  make  thee 
out  a  liar,  Mikhail  Yakovlevitch." 

The  dvoretzkoi,  in  his  turn,  took  off  his  shab- 
by cap,  and  bowing  low,  ejaculated — '•  The 
Lord  himself  will  repay  thee!" 

"Enough  !  sin  not,  Mikhail  :  we  are  friends, 
we  will  settle  our  accounts  :  only  help  me  in 
Obrazetz's  matter." 

The  dvoretzkoi  pointed  meaningly  to  the 
Church  of  the  Saviour,  which  they  were  now 
approaching.  The  pinnacles  of  the  Great 
Prince's  palace  peered  above  it.  Tnat  their 
plot  might  not  be  suspected,  they  entered,  one 
by  the  water-gate  of  the  Kreml,  the  other  by 
the  Kikolskoi  gate.  Their  separation  was  only 
to  last  till  they  reached  the  Great  Prince's 
court,  whither  they  were  both  bound. 

To  the  salutations  of  the  passengers,  who 
■  knew  that  they  were  powerful  men,  Mamon  re- 
plied by  slightly  raising  his  cap,  while  Roussal- 
ka answered  them  by  low  reverences.  Some 
young  soldiers,  who  had  nothing  to  lose  but 
their  heads,  shouted  after  the  former  the  name 
of  "  Pickthank,"  which  he  left  behind  him  to 
posterity  ;  for  the  second,  they  expressed  their 
contempt  only  by  a  slight  laugh.  It  must  be 
confessed  that  Mam6n  was  peculiarly  disliked 
by  the  people  ;  because,  at  the  time  of  the  in- 
vasion of  the  Russian  territory  by  the  horde  of 
Makhmet,  he  had  disposed  the  Great  Prince  to 


timid  measures  ;  and  had  ever  been  a  whisper- 
er about  every  thing  that  took  place  in  private 
life  and  in  the  world.  Roussalka  knew  how  to 
avoid  this  odium  by  veiling  his  actions  under 
an  air  of  virtue  and  necessity,  and  found  a  jus- 
tification with  a  generous  people  in  his  affected 
poverty,  his  universal  affability,  and  Christian 
meekness :  while  his  haughty  and  arrogant 
friend  trampled  public  opinion  in  the  dust,  and 
boasted  of  his  place,  which  brought  him  near 
the  person  of  the  Great  Prince,  and  often  vaunt- 
ed of  his  own  power  and  opportunities  for  do- 
ing harm. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE    SALUTATION. 

The  Great  Prince  was  then  residing  in  the 
wooden  palace  called  the  "  Old  Place"  beyond 
the  Church  of  the  Annunciation,  then  recently- 
built.  In  addition  to  this,  there  was  still  stand- 
ing the  ruinous  old  palace  behind  the  church  of 
Michael  the  Archangel  (this  was  still  of  wood) 
in  the  square  of  YarosUff.  All  these  buildings 
were  about  to  be  taken  down,  one  after  the  other: 
the  Gobkti  Palace,  and  the  Toicer  Palace  of  the 
Women,  were  already  completed  in  the  mind's 
eye  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch;  and  he  was  only- 
awaiting,  to  execute  his  plan.s,  the  skilful  archi- 
tects who  were  shortly  to  arrive  with  the  Ger- 
man physician.  The  residence  of  the  Great 
Princes  consisted  of  a  number  of  chambers, 
giving  off  or  issuing  from  a  principal  building. 
These  were  variously  designated  according  to 
their  object  and  situation;  the  "Hall,"  the 
"  Middle  Izba,"  the  "  West  Chamber,"  the  "Au- 
dience-hall," the  "Hall  of  the  Square  Pillar," 
the  "Dortour,"  the  "  Banqueting-room,"  the 
"Store-rooms,"  and  so  on.  These  buildings 
were  all  surrounded  by  corridors  or  covered  gal- 
leries, the  sides  of  which  were  solid,  leading  to 
the  parish  church  and  to  various  oratories;  the 
principal  of  ihe.se  galleries  conducted  to  the 
Church  of  the  Annunciation,  called  for  this  rea- 
son the  Great  Prince's  church.  The  ruler  of  the 
people  never  began  or  finished  a  day  without  a 
prayer  in  the  house  of  God.  Even  the  sick  and 
the  women  were  not  excused  from  this  duty; 
windows  were  made  in  their  chambers  in  such  a 
manner,  that  they  could  hear  divine  service,  and 
perform  their  devotions,  within  sight  of  the  im- 
ages of  the  churches.  In  the  same  manner  in 
after  times  almost  every  rich  man  had  a  church 
in  the  court-yard  of  his  house.  Many  flights  of 
steps,  among  which  the  "Red  Stairs"  were  dis- 
tinguished, by  being  of  stone  and  by  sculptured 
ornaments,  led  down  into  the  great  square.  The 
"  WatcrsUle  Palace"  projected  from  the  front  of 
the  private  residence.  The  architecture  of  these 
times  was  simple — even  childish:  its  principal 
triumphs  consisted  in  some  external  decorations. 
The  front,  as  is  generally  the  ca.se  in  all  the 
more  splendid  Russian  churches,  indicated,  by 
the  elevation  of  its  cupolas,  that  the  heart  of  the 
worshipper  should  be  raised  on  high.  Glance 
at  the  engravings  of  Indian  temples,  particularly 
tho.se  of  the  Zigs,  and  you  will  find  in  them  the 
archetype  of  the  Russian  churches.  The  artists 
endeavoured  in  general  to  surpass  each  other  in 
the  luxuriance  of  twisted  columns  and  ara- 
besque carvings,  in  the  decoration  of  the  orna- 
mented windows.  This  carving  was  so  excel- 
lent as  to  resemble  the  most  delicate  lace- work : 
in  spite,  however,  of  these  adornments,  the  an- 


24 


THE   HERETIC. 


cient  abode  of  the  Great  Princes  acquired  an  air 
of  gloom  from  the  rusty  iron  gratings  which  de- 
fended ihe  windows,  the  dim  panes  of  mica  fixed 
in  lead,  and  from  the  sloping  attics  losing  them- 
selves in  the  old  tomb-like  roof,  on  which  time 
had  scattered  patches  of  green  and  reddish  moss. 
We  have  said  that  the  palace  was  situated  in 
the  square.  Four  streets,  rather  wider  than  was 
usual  in  those  days,  crowded  with  churches, 
chapels,  and  hou.ses  resembling  the  dwellings  ol' 
rich  farmers  in  the  governments  of  N6vgorod 
and  Pskoff— and  you  have  the  Court  Square! 
We  must  add,  that  many  small  hou.ses,  in  spite 
of  the  presence  of  the  palace,  projected  irregu- 
larly from  the  line  of  the  street,  as  if  to  boast  of 
their  owners'  liberty.  The  whole  of  the  Cily, 
bounded  b}'  the  wall  of  the  Kreml,  resembled  an 
ant-hill  of  towers  and  churches,  through  which 
some  child  had  traced,  in  various  directions,  a 
number  of  random  paths.  Above  these  paths 
the  roofs  of  the  houses  almost  met  each  other, 
so  that  a  bold  and  active  man — to  say  nothing 
of  the  Devil  on  Two  Sticks — might  have  made 
a  tolerably  long  journey  upon  them.  It  was 
from  this  crowded  state  of  the  city  it  happened, 
that  conflagration  had  .so  often  devoured  the 
■whole  of  Moscow.  But  in  this  old  palace,  be- 
yond Ihe  Church  of  the  Annunciation,  dwelt  the 
first  Tsar  of  AH  Russia :  here  he  projected  and 
prepared  her  future  power:  hither,  alarmed  by 
the  signs  of  that  power,  the  sovereigns  of  many 
countries  sent  their  ambassadors  to  bow  before 
him,  and  entroat  his  alliance.  On  approaching 
this  palace,  the  Russian  courtiers  redoubled 
their  prayers  to  the  Almighty,  that  he  might 
save  them  from  the  wrath  of  their  terrible  earthly 
ruler. 

The  sun,  not  far  above  the  horizon,  was  shed- 
ding his  morning  radiance  over  the  earth,  yet  all 
the  inhabitants  of  the  palace  were  a-foo't,  and 
had  begun  their  daily  occupations;  the  court 
attendants  were  every  where  busied  in  their  va- 
rious duties.  Their  offices  had  been  instituted 
by  Ivan,  in  imitation  of  the  royal  households  of 
Europe;  but  they  were  designated  by  Russian 
titles  expressive  of  their  official  employments, 
(titles  afterwards  unfortunately  changed  by  Peter 
the  First.)  The  dvorfeizkoi  Roussalka  arrayed 
himself  in  a  fresh  dress:  he  had  had  lime,  how- 
ever, to  pay  a  short  visit  to  Ivan's  grandson,  and 
10  carry  him  some  playthings— to  perform  vari- 
ous commissions  for  Sophia  the  consort  of  the 
Great  Prince,  and  Helena  the  wife  of  his  son, 
although  these  princesses  were  not  on  good 
terms  with  each  other:  one  courtier  he  had 
gratified  with  a  caressing  word,  another  with  a 
jest;  he  was  seen  every  where,  he  busied  him 
self  in  every  thing.  Not  contenting  himself 
•with  the  performance  of  his  regular  and  stated 
duties,  he  endeavoured  to  anticipate  the  desires 
and  wishes  of  his  sovereign,  even  lor  the  follow- 
ing day.  The  dvor^tzkoi's  duties  were  confined 
to  the  Great  Prince's  court;  but  he  extended 
their  circle,  by  every  means  in  his  power,  W- 
yond  its  limits.  OnRous.'^alka  were  heaped  the 
itiostdiflicult  and  ticklish  tasks,  not  unfrequcntly 
the  most  (iamjerons  and  dirty  ones:  he  sometimes 
volunteered  himself  to  undertake  them,  as  if  to 
show  th;it,  though  weak  in  his  exterior,  he  was 
yet  a  giant  in  craft  and  iniellect.  Iv;in  liked 
such  .servants,  and  it  was  of  such  a  one  he  said, 
pointing  to  him  with  triumph— "A  cur  he  may 
be,  but  he  layeth  eggs  for  me!"  When  he  re- 
marked their  ra.scalities,  he  punished  them  with 
an  angry  word,  a  stroke  of  the  staff;  or  a  tempo- 


rary disgrace;  but  more  frequently  he  shut  his 
eyes  to  their  delinquencies,  when  they  did  not 
injure  his  person  or  the  state.  Holding  the  staff 
of  the  Great  Prince,  and  the  second  state  bonnet, 
the  dvoretzkoi  was  awaiting  the  sovereign's  ap- 
pearance at  the  door  of  the  middle  izba,  which 
separated  the  sleeping  chamber  from  the  hall  of 
the  square  pillar,  where  Roussalka  was  now  in 
attendance.  The  naked  walls  of  this  chamber 
were  decorated  only  on  the  four  sides  by  images* 
of  enormous  size,  in  frames,  with  curtains  of  ' 
damask,  bordered  with  fringes  strung  with  gold  ' 
drolmilzas,  or  Hungarian  pfennings.  In  the; 
wide  chamber  there  was  no  furniture  but  an  oak) 
table,  adorned  with  delicate  carving,  and  tw(> 
stools  with  cushions  covered  with  cloth ;  beneath 
each  was  a  footstool,  and  on  the  floor  was  spread 
a  carpet  of  KizMahk  {Persian  manufacture) — an 
"  underfoot,"  as  it  was  called  by  our  ancestors. 
All  was  as  still  as  in  a  tomb.  Motionless  stood 
Roussalka,  his  ears  and  all  his  thoughts  bent 
upon  the  door  through  which  the  Great  Prince 
was  to  enter.  Suddenly,  within  the  middle  izba, 
was  heard  a  cry,  like  that  of  a  feeble  old  man, 
uttered  in  a  strange  hoarse  voice — "Tsarlvi'm 
Vassilievitch!  Tsar  Ivin !"  Then  Rou.ssalka 
smiled  craftily,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
nodded  his  head,  as  much  as  to  sa)' — "That's 
the  affair!"  then  applied  his  ear  to  the  door. 
Thus  they  spoke  within — "Ha!  ha!  ha!  this  is 
a  trick  of  thine,  Phominishna,"t  said  a  male 
voice;  "Thou  madest  me  go  forth  against  the 
Tartars,  and  now  I  see  thy  train  ....  Thanks, 
thanks !"  A  door  creaked,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment a  woman's  voice  was  heard — "It  is  time! 
Ail  Russia  boweth  down  to  thee  in  that  name; 
and  even  the  Roman  Cnesar  calleth  thee  .so." 

"Tsar  Ivan  !  Tsar  Ivan  !"  again  cried  the  old- 
man-like  voice. 

"  Enough  !"  interrupted  the  commanding  voice 
of  the  male  speaker;  "I  have,  as  it  is,  many 
Tsars  in  my  brain  !  It  is  not  thou  that  hast  moved 
me.  In  my  heart  'tis  lime ;  but  in  the  world  it 
is  not  come'  yet.  Long  have  the  eyes  beheld  it; 
but  the  teeth  could  not  grasp  it  ...  .  All  Russia ! 
where  is  it "?  Where  is  that  kingdom,  mighty, 
united,  commanding;  like  one  body,  in  whicii 
hand  and  foot  do  what  the  head  willeth?" 

"  Thou  has  quieted  the  Tartar,  thou  hast  quell- 
ed Nf)Vgorod,  and  spread  thy  power  so  wide,  that 
thou  mayest  call  thyself  the  Russian  Tsar,"  in- 
terrupted Sophia  Phominishna. 

"  Ay,  I  have  spread  it  wide;  and  what  I  have 
grasped  that  hold  I  firm  ;  but  here,  it  is  my  own 
people  that  weigh  upon  me,  and  bind  me.  'Tis 
even  so  with  my  kinsmen  !  1  am  hampered  bv 
YarosldfT,  Rostisff,  Ouglftch,  Riazan.  The  gate 
of  my  kingdom  is  not  firmly  barred,  while  Vereia 
heloiigelh  to  another.  As  I  go  to  my  good  town 
of  Novgorod,  I  stumble  over  Tver  ....  Look 
from  the  window,  my  love;  canst  thou  not  be- 
hold from  it  a  foreign  principality,  a  foreign  pow- 
er 1  Admire  the  stone  palaces, 'the  noble  cathe- 
drals of  my  capital— our  dwelling!  ....  Is  there 
any   thing  like  it  in  foreign  lands'?     Out  and 


*  The  Grrnk  Cljurch  forliiJs  the  use  n( sculpture  in  the 
ropresi-iitntion  iif  snrroil  personiiges,  the  tlcroration  of 
chiirrhcs,  <tr.  ;  nnplovinc-  for  this  jinrposp  pirturef,  gPli- 
rrnlly  in  Ihe  smooth  hanl  Dy7.anlino  style,  the  whole  sur- 
face, e.trn)iiiiii»  tlie  face  uiij  haiid.s,  hping'  cnrrustril  with 
silver  or  koUI.  These,  Ihonch  not  sirirtly  work.'*  of  sculp- 
ture, are  called  in  Russian  Shraz  or  0:6n,  (the  latter  is  the 
Greek  tiKurv ;)  ii  term  which  the  Iranslntorhas  preferred  to 
remler  "  inmife.'— T.  H.  S. 

•  I'hominishna  is  "daughter  of  PhomA" — Thomiw  :  the 
Great  Trincess  Sophin  wns  the  dau(;htcr  of  Thomas,  the 
last  of  the  Palieogi.-T.  B.  S. 


THE    HERETIC. 


S5 


alas !  I  was  even  ashamed  before  the  Almayne 
ambassador." 

"  Aristotle  will  build  us  a  splendid  temple  for 
the  Holy  Virgin;  we  shall  soon  have  artists  .... 
They  shall  build  a  palace— mansioe*  for  thy 
boyarins.  Five  years — and  thou  wilt  not  know 
Moscow  again." 

"  First  let  us  root  up  the  hedge  and  pull  down 
the  barrier;  and  then,  if  the  Lord  give  me  life, 
will  we  build  us  a.ro)'al  dwelling— then  will  I 
be  the  Tsar  of  All  Russia,  not  in  name  alone — 
then  will  I  say,  Verily  God  hath  chosen  for  this 
his  servant  Ivan.    Yea,  I  will  be  a  Tsar." 

With  these  words  the  door  flew  open,  and  the 
Great  Prince  entered  suddenly  into  the  hall  of 
the  pillar,  where  Roussalka  had  found  lime  to 
array  his  features  in  the  necessary  expression 
of  servility. 

Ivan  Vassilievitch  was  preparing  to  receive 
the  Bishop  of  Tver,  and  a  deputation  of  the  chief 
men  of  that  city,  sent  on  an  embassy  to  him  by 
his  brother-in-law,  the  Great  Prince  of  Tver, 
Mikhail  Bovisovitch.  These  envoys  came  from 
the  younger  brother,  who  had  been  deprived  of 
his  right  o^ equality,  to  offer  excuses  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the  seizure  of  his  correspondence  with 
Kazimir,  King  of  Poland.  For  this  reception 
the  Great  Prince  was  dressed  in  various  habili- 
ments, of  different  names — in  a  rich  kaftdn  of 
state,  embroidered  with  figures  of  men — the  wider 
this  garment  spread,  the  more  beautiful  and  mag- 
nificent was  it  considered  by  our  forefathers — 
his  black  hair  fell  richly  from  beneath  a  kaphia 
(close  Tartar  skull-cap)  embroidered  with  pearls. 
On  his  breast  hung  a  golden  chain,  suspending 
a  large  cross  of  cypress-wood,  which  contained 
fragments  of  a  relic  ;  on  the  middle  finger  of  his 
right  hand  glittered  a  ring  of  gold,  of  filigree 
work,  which,  however,  owed  none  of  its  splen- 
dour to  the  stone  set  in  it,  the  latter  appearing  lit- 
tle belter  than  a  common  pebble;  but  this  stone 
Ivan  Vassilievitch  would  not  have  exchanged 
for  gems  of  the  purest  water — it  was  a  talisman, 
a  present  from  his  ally  and  friend,  Mengli-Ghirei, 
Khan  of  Krim-Tartaiy,  and  which  the  latter  had 
received  from  India.  Thus,  in  the  words  of  a 
chronicler  ran  the  letter  of  Mengli-Ghirei,  which 
accompanied  this  gift :  "  It  is  known  to  thee, 
that  in  the  Indies,  in  the  land  called  Kerditchen, 
there  is  a  beast  called  an  Unicorn,  the  horn 
whereof  hath  this  virtue — he  who  beareth  in  his 
hand  the  horn,  be  he  eating  or  drinking  any 
thing,  and  if  there  be  in  what  he  eateth  or  drink- 
eth  any  poison,  the  same  shall  do  unto  the  man 
no  hurt."  For  this  reason  a  portion  of  the  horn 
was  set  in  a  ring,  and  Ivan  Vassilievitch  never 
took  it  off,  guarding  carefully  the  present  of  his 
ally,  perhaps  in  anticipation  of  an  attempt  to 
poison  him.  The  Prince  threw  a  rapid  fiery 
glance  from  under  his  black  broad  eyebrows 
upon  the  dvoretkoi — a  glance  which  iew  could 
bear,  and  which  threw  women  of  a  weak  consti- 
tution into  a  fainting  fit.  It  seemed  to  embrace 
the  minister  from  head  to  foot,  and  to  read  his 
very  soul.  On  the  other  hand,  the  profound,  al- 
most religious,  reverence  witn'which  Roussalka 
seemed  to  try  to  hide  himself  from  that  penetra- 
ting glance,  was  followed  by  the  presentation  of 
the  staff  and  the  kissing  of  the  mighty  hand. 
The  bonnet  Ivan  Vassilievitch  did  not  take,  but 
intimated,  by  a  nod,  that  the  dvoretzkoi  should 
place  it  on  one  of  the  stools.  "  Heard'st  thou, 
dvoretzkoi,  with  what  a  lofty  title  I  was  greeted 
by  the  bird  froca  beyond  seal"  asked  the  Great 
Prince,  clearing  up  his  frowning  brow. 


In  fact,  the  strange  voice  which  had  been  heard 
by  the  dvoretzkoi  was  the  cry  of  a  parrot,  sent 
by  the  German  amlassador  to  the  Great  Prin- 
cess Sophia  Phomfnishna.  The  daughter  of  the 
Palceologi,  endowed  by  nature  with  a  force  of 
intellect  and  will  which  had  been  denied  to  her 
brothers,  knew  well  how  trifling  a  circumstance 
might  suffice  to  decide  her  husband  to  complete 
the  great  work  ripening  in  his  vigorous  mind^ 
She  had  been  the  first  to  refuse  openly  to  remain 
any  longer  the  vassal  of  the  Tartars.  By  de- 
manding for  her  own  use  the  lodging  appropria- 
ted to  the  horde,  and  by  this  means  ejecting  them 
from  the  Kreml,  Sophia  had  given  the  Great 
Prince  the  idea  that  their  concessions  had  orig- 
inated in  conscious  weakness,  and  that  he  might 
with  as  much  ease  expel  them  altogether  from 
the  Russian  soil.  Now,  when  Ivan,  having  hum- 
bled Kazan,  conquered  Novgorod,  and  made 
conditions  with  the  horde,  began  to  meditate  the 
complete  liberation  of  his  kingdom  from  a  vas- 
salage which  fettered  him  within,  and  made  him 
enemies  without,  Sophia,  cunning  and  ambitious, 
was  endeavouring,  by  various  means,  to  render 
easy  to  him  his  unjust  but  unavoidable  task; 
and  for  this  purpose  she  had  privately  taught 
the  foreign  bird  to  salute  him  with  the  name  of 
Tsar,  which  flattered  him  so  much. 

" 'Tis  plain  the  bird  is  a  prophet,  my  lord!" 
said  the  austere  courtier,  carrying  a  stool  towards 
the  window,  and  placing  a  footstool  covered  with 
gold  beneath  the  Great  Prince's  feet,  and  spread- 
ing a  carpet  over  it.  All  this  was  performed  at 
a  sign  from  the  glance  and  baton  of  the  sover- 
ergn,  so  rapidly  made  that  the  eye  could  hardljr 
follow  their  movements.  But  the  dvoretzkoi 
lacked  not  activity.  Whence  came  his  dexter- 
ity 1  he  was  an  old  feeble  man,  whose  soul  seem- 
ed departing  from  his  body. 

On  the  covers  of  the  seats  were  embroidered 
lions  tearing  serpents  in  pieces;  and  on  the 
brocade  for  stools  the  double-headed  eagle.  This 
was  a  new  object,  and  did  not  escape  the  Great 
Prince's  observation.  His  black  eyes  sparkled 
with  pleasure;  for  some  time  he  admired  the 
imperial  snakes  and  bird,  and  before  he  seated 
himself  on  the  stool,  and  placed  his  foot  gently 
on  the  footstool,  he  said,  with  kindness—"  And 
thou  too,  old  dog,  hast  been  conspiring  with 
Phomfnishna  to  please  me." 

The. dvoretzkoi  bowed  low,  stroking  with  his 
hand  his  ragged,  pointed  beard. 

"O  ho!"  continued  the  Great  Prince;  "'tis 
easy  to  prepare  imperial  paraphernalia — to  sur- 
round me  with  woven  eagles  and  brocade  lions 
—  to  teach  popinjays  to  salute  me  as  I  wish — but 
to  be  a  Tsar  in  word  and  deed  is  not  so  easy. 
Thou  knowest  well  how  much  it  cost  me  to  strug- 
gle with  my  kinsmen.  They  sat  down  at  a  great 
table  in  the  high  places,  and  began  to  fall  to. 
But  I  will  not  give  them  spoons,  nor  pass  the 
wine:  and  yet  there  they  sit,  as  if  they  were 
growing  to  their  places." 

"  What  are  we  to  do,  my  lord,  if  they  know- 
not  good  manners  1" 

"  Rap  them  on  the  pate,  and  away  with  them 
from  table.  Good  faith, 'tis  time  !  Let  them  cry — 
let  them  grumble — '  He  thinketh  no  shame  to  flay 
his  kinsmen;  he  will  pay  for  that  in  the  other 
world !'  No,  I  shall  not  have  to  pay  for  that. 
Before  I  was  a  brother,  an  uncle,  a  kinsman,  I 
was  lord  of  All  Russia !  When  I  appear  before 
the  awful  judgment-seat  of  Christ,  he  will  as- 
suredly ask  me — '  Ha.st  thou  cared  for  the  Rus- 
sian land,  whereof  I  made  thee  lord  and  father  1 


iJ6 


THE   HERETIC. 


/Didst  thou  unite,  didst  thou  strengthen  that  Rus- 
sia, weak,  torn,  and  riven  asunder"?'  This  is 
what  he  will  ask  me,  and  not  whether  I  drank 
ifrom  the  same  cup  as  my  brothers  and  kinsmen  ; 
■whether  I  patted  them  on  the  head;  whether  I 
coaxed  them  —  they,  and  their  kinsmen,  and 
strangers— to  suck  the  blood  of  Russia." 

Ivan  Vassilievitch  stopped,  and  looked  at  the 
-dvoretzkoi,  as  if  inviting  a  reply. 

The  other  understood  him,  and  said  with  a 
low  reverence  :  "  Vouchsalis  me,  my  lord.  Great 
Prince  — me  thy  servant,  to  speak  a  foolish 
•word." 

"  Speak  a  wise  one  ;  if  thou  givest  me  a  fool- 
ish one  I  shall  call  thee  fool." 

Another  bow  :  Roussalka  accompanied  it  with 
the  following  discourse— "  To  him  who  entereth 
into  marriage,  the  Lord  commandeth  to  leave 
father  and  mother,  and  cleave  only  to  his  wife. 
Into  the  same  state  of  marriage  didst  thou  enter. 
Lord  of  All  Russia,  when  thou  receivedst  by 
thy  birth,  and  from  the  hands  of  a  holy  man  in 
the  house  of  God,  a  blessing  on  thy  reign.  Ap- 
ply this  precept  to  thyself,  my  lord  ;  more  wisely 
I  cannot  answer  thy  speech :  I  am  neither  deacon 
nor  clerk." 

"  Thy  clergy  is  in  thy  brain,  Mikhail :  'tis 
•well !" 

As  he  pronounced  the.se  last  words,  the  Great 
Prince  leaned  his  chin  on  his  arms,  which  he 
■crossed  on  the  top  of  his  baton,  and  plunged  into 
a  deep  reverie.  Thus  he  passed  some  minutes, 
during  which  the  dvoretzkoi  dared  not  even  to 
stir.  It  cannot  be  said  that  during  these  tew 
minutes  the  angel  of  peace  was  hovering  above 
them :  in  them  the  terrible  demon  ofdiscord 
aro.se.  During  that  pause  was  decided  the  fate 
of  Tver,  once  the  mighty  rival  of  Moscow. 

At  length  Ivan  Vassilievitch  said — "Summon 
hither  Mamrtn  and  my  deacons." 

The  command  was  instantly  obe)'ed:  the  dvo- 
retzkoi returned  immediately  with  his  friend,  al- 
ready known  to  us,  and  three  new  faces. 


CHAPTER  VL 

THE   LORD   AND    HIS    HOUSEHOLD. 

Twineth,  twineth  h6p-blossoin, 

G16ry  < 
R6un(],  around  the  p61e— O  !  the  silvery  pole  ; 

Glorv ! 
Si  twine  Princes  and  vdliant  RoVHrins, 

Gl6ry  ! 
Il6und  the  noble  TsAr,  the  true  Christian  Tsar. 

G16ry  ! 

On  entering  the  izbA  of  the  square  pillar,  they 
Till  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  before  the  image 
<if  the  Saviour,  and  then  bowed  low.  very  low, 
to  the  Great  Prince.  From  the  difference  of 
their  stature,  they  seemed  as  if  they  had  come 
one  out  of  the  other,  like  a  nest  of' boxes,  or  a 
set  of  drinking  glas.ses  for  travelling.  The  tall- 
est of  the  party  was  Fefidor  Kmirifzin;  this  was 
a  man  a  full'  head  taller  than  Mam6n,  under 
fifly  years  of  age,  but  looking  older  than  he 
really  was.  Unremitted  intellectual  labour  and 
care  had  bent  his  fiijiiro,  and  exhausted  him  into 
an  appearance  of  ill  health.  On  his  bald  head, 
behind  the  ears  alone,  there  remained,  as  if  for 
a  sample,  two  or  three  pair  of  scattered  sandy 
curls.  His  face  was  wasted,  but  the  dimly 
gleaming  eves  yet  gave  forth  the  fire  of  intellect; 
on  his  high  and  cavernous  f>rehond  God  had 
plainly  stamped  the  seal  of  lofty  llioushts.     He 


was  employed  by  the  Great  Prince  in  diplomatic 
affairs.  Next  followed  Mam6n.  Then  came 
the  deacon,  Volodimir  Elizdroff  Gouscff,  a  man  of 
business,  a  lawyer,  who  deserves  the  memory 
of  posterity  for  his  compilation  of  the  Soudebiiik, 
(code  of  laws.)  The  remaining  person  seemed 
as  if  he  had  been  taken  out  of  Kourftzin's  bo- 
som, so  diminutive  was  he.  In  the  kingdom  of 
the  Lilliputians  he  might  perhaps  have  been 
made  drum-major  of  the  guards — for  there  he 
might  have  been  considered  a  tall  man,  as  he 
would  have  been  superior  to  so  many ;  but, 
among  our  huge  countr}'men,  he  would  have 
hardly  reached  up  to  the  shoulder  of  a  little  rifle- 
man— so  completely  does  every  thing  depend 
upon  comparison.  But  one  appendage  to  his 
person  overshadowed  the  whole  man — he  almost 
realized  the  dwarfs  of  our  nursery  stories,  of 
whom  they  say,  they  are  no  bigger  than  my  nail, 
with  a  beard  just  like  a  horse's  tail — a  giganticj 
a  magnificent  beard  !  From  it  the  deacon  was 
called  Borodatii,  (Beardie.)  You  are  not,  how- 
ever, to  suppose  that  all  his  merits  were  confined 
to  this  hairy  ornament.  No !  his  name  has  come 
down  to  us  coupled  with  other  qualities  ;  for  in- 
stance, he  knew  how  to  ^pcak,  as  the  chroniclers 
have  it.  These  authors  he  had  learned  by  heart ; 
he  had  crammed  himself  with  their  writings  as 
one  loads  a  cannon,  and  wrote  fiiuhi,  as  they 
called  it  in  those  days,  or  inflatedly,  as'we  should 
say  now,  the  history  of  his  master's  exploits. 
To  him,  too,  was  confided  the  task  of  instruct- 
ing the  clergy  of  the  court  in  sacred  singing;  as 
an  old  historian  phrases  it — "  dyvers  manere  of 
melodyous  dulcitude ;"  in  a  word,  he  was  the 
human  humming-bird  of  the  court.  Sweet  was 
his  song;  he  thrilled,  hardly  bending  the  bough 
on  which  he  perched,  and  he  feared  not  the 
pounce  of  hawk  within  his  liny  nest.  He  was 
too  small  to  attract  the  bird  of  prey. 

"  Well !  .  .  .  .  how  goeth  the  matter  of  the 
Lithuanians'?"  was  the  Great  Prince's  stem  en- 
quiry to  Mam6n.  By  his  expression,  he  was 
awaiting  a  bloody  answer. 

"  Both  the  Prince  Louk6mskii,  and  the  inter- 
preter Matiphas,  have  confessed  that  they  tried 
to  poison  thee  at  the  command  of  Kazimfr,"  re- 
plied Mam6n,  firmly.  "  To  make  trial,  I  gave 
some  old  women  the  poison :  with  one  grain  of 
it  they  swelled  up,  and  a  dog  burst." 

Ivan  Vassilievitch  took  off  his  taphia,  cro.ssed 
himself,  and  continued  with  fervour,  turning  to- 
wards the  image  of  the  Saviour — "  I  thank  thee, 
O  Lord  and  Saviour!  for  that  thou  hasi  vouch- 
safed to  keep  thy  sinful  servant  from  a  violent 
death."  Then  applying  his  lips  to  his  ring  of 
licrdiUhin,  he  added'—"  Thanks,  too,  to  Mengli- 
Ghirt'i :  but  for  this,  thy  gift,  it  had  been  ea.sy 
for  the  fiend  to  raise  instigations,  and  to  sow 
them  even  among  kinsmen ;  now  fear  we  our 
own  kinsmen  more  than  a  stranger." 

"  Alas  !  our  good  lord  and  prince,  think'st 
thou  that  we,  ihy  faithful  slaves,  would  permit 
that  ?"  cried  the  dvoretzkoi  and  Mam6n  with 
one  voice. 

"  The  eye  of  the  Lord  watcheth  over  lawful 
rulers,"  said  Gfiuseff,  "and  over  thee  chiefly, 
my  Lord  Great  Prince,  for  the  building  up  and 
weal  of  Russia." 

The  liny  deacon,  BorodAtii,  sang,  loo,  hi* 
paneeyric  through  his  nose;  Kouritzin  was  si- 
lent. 

Ivan  Vasstlievitch  coniinued,  without  seem- 
ing to  hear  the  assurances  of  his  courtiers : 
"  Good  faith— verily,  a  most  mighiy,  noble,  glo- 


THE    HERETIC. 


27 


•riousking!  Worse  than  a  heretic  !  A  Christ- 
ian king!  He  taketh  not  with  force  but  with 
poison  !  Dare  henceforward  to  bark — to  say 
•that  I  sought  peace  from  interest,  though  of  my 
own  right  I  might  claim  our  ancient  province 
of  Lithuania  ....  But  be  wary,  Mam6n  ;  take 
care  that  there  was  no  deceit  in  thine  inquest— 
neither  favour  nor  revenge  !" 

"  Seven  good  witnesses,  children  of  boyarins, 
kissed  the  cross  with  me;  we  have  not  sinned 
either  before  God  or  before  thee,  my  lord." 

"  'Tis  well  ....  But  what  punishment,  Vo- 
lodfmer  Elizarovitch,  is  decreed  in  thy  soudeb- 
nik  against  the  felon  who  reacheth  at  another's 
iife  V 

"  In  the  soudebnik  it  is  decreed,"  replied  G6u- 
seif,  "  whoever  shall  be  accused  of  larceny,  rob- 
bery, murder,  or  false  accusation,  or  other  like 
evil  act,  and  the  same  shall  be  manifestly  guilty, 
the  boyarin  shall  doom  the  same  unto  the  pain 
cf  death,  and  the  plaintitf  shall  have  his  goods  ; 
and  if  any  thing  remain,  tlTb  same  shall  go  to 
Ihe  boyarin  and  the  deacon."  .... 

''Ay,  the  lawyers  remember  themselves  — 
never  fear  that  the  boyarin  and  deacon  forget 
Iheir  fees.  And  what  is  written  in  thy  book 
against  royal  murderers  and  conspirators  V 

"  In  our  memory  such  case  hath  not  arisen." 

"  Even  so  1  you  lawyers  are  ever  writing  leaf 
after  leaf,  and  never  do  ye  write  all;  and  then 
the  upright  judges  begin  to  gloze,  to  interpret,  to 
take  bribes  for  dark  passages.  The  law  ought 
to  be  like  an  open  hand  without  a  glove,  (the 
Prince  opened  his  fist;)  every  simple  man  ought 
to  see  what  is  in  it,  and  it  should  not  be  able  to 
conceal  a  grain  of  corn.  Short  and  clear;  and, 
when  needful,  seizing  firmly  !  .  .  ,  .  But  as  it 
IS,  they  have  put  a  ragged  glove  on  law;  and, 
besides,  they  close  the  fist.  Ye  may  guess — odd 
or  even !  they  can  show  one  or  the  other,  as  they 
like." 

"  Pardon,  my  Lord  Great  Prince  ;  lo,  what  we 
nvill  add  to  the  soudebnik— the  royal  murderer 
and  plotter  shall  not  live." 

"  Be  it  so.  Let  not  him  live,  who  reached  at 
another's  life."  (Here  he  turned  to  Kouritzin, 
but  remembering  that  he  was  always  disinclined 
to  severe  punishments,  he  continued,  waving  his 
hand.)  "  1  forgot  that  a  craven*  croweth  not  like 
a  cock."  (At  these  words  the  deacon's  eyes 
sparkled  with  satisfaction.)  "Mamon,  be  this 
thy  care.  Tell  thy  judge  of  Moscow — the  court 
judge — to  have  the  Lithuanian  and  the  inter- 
preter burned  alive  on  the  Moskva — burn  them, 
dost  thou  hearl  that  others  may  not  think  of 
such  deeds." 

The  dvoretzkoi  bowed,  and  said,  stroking  his 
ragged  beard — "  In  a  few  days  will  arrive  the 
strangers  to  build  the  palace,  and  the  Almayne 
leech  :  the  Holy  Virgin  only  knoweth  whether 
there  be  not  evil  men  among  them  also.  Dost 
thou  vouchsafe  me  to  speak  what  hath  come 
into  my  mind  1" 

"  Speak." 

"  Were  it  not  good  to  show  them  an  exam- 
ple at  once,  by  punishing  the  criminals  before 
them  V 

The  Great  Prince,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
leplied — "  Aristotle  answereth  for  the  leech  An- 
tony ;  he  is  a  disciple  of  his  brother's.  The  art- 
ists of  the  palace — foreigners — are  good  men, 
.jquiet  men  ...  but  ...  .  who  can  tell!  .  .  .  . 


*  A  jeu  de  mots  impossible  to  be  rendered  in  English  ; 
Kountza,  in  Russia,  is  "  a  hen." 


Mam6n,  put  off  the  execution  till  after  the  com- 
ing of  the  Almayne  leech ;  but  see  that  the  fet- 
ters sleep  not  on  the  evil  doers  !" 

Here  he  signed  to  Mam6n  to  go  and  fulfil  his 
order. 

"  By  the  way,  my  lord,"  said  Roussalka,  when 
his  friend  had  departed,  "  where  wiliest  thou  that 
we  lodge  the  Almayne  1" 

"As  near  as  possible  to  my  palace,  in  case  of 
need." 

"Aristotle  saith  it  would  be  a  shame  to  lodge 
him  in  our  izbas:  but  the  only  stone  house  in 
the  neighbourhood  is  the  voevoda's — the  house 
of  Vassilii  Feodorovitch  Obrazetz.  Thou  thy- 
self commandedst  me  to  remind  thee"  .... 

The  Great  Prince  divined  the  meaning  of  the 
dvoretzkoi,  and  laughingly  replied  —  '•'  Well, 
Mikhail,  right  well  ....  'twill  not  be  over- 
pleasing  to  the  boyarin ;  but  still  he  will  not  be 
poisoned  by  the  atmosphere  of  the  Almayne. 
Let  him  know  from  whence  cometh  the  bad 
weather." 

He  stopped,  and  turned  with  an  air  of  steru 
command  to  Kouritzin. 

The  latter  had  addressed  himself  to  speak — 
"  The  ambassadors  from  Tver  ....  from 
the"  .... 

"  From  the  prince,  thou  wouldst  say,"  burst 
in  Ivan  Vassilievitch:  "  I  no  longer  recognize  a 
Prince  of  Tver.  What — I  ask  thee  what  did  he 
promise  in  the  treaty  of  conditions  which  his 
bishop  was  to  negotiate  % — the  bishop  who  is 
with  us  now." 

"  To  dissolve  his  alliance  with  the  Polish 
king,  Kazimir,  and  never  without  thy  knowledge 
to  renew  his  intercourse  with  him  ;  nor  with 
thine  ill-wishers,  nor  with  Russian  deserters :  to 
swear  in  his  own  and  his  children's  name,  never 
to  yield  to  Lithuania." 

"  Hast  thou  still  the  letter  to  King  Kazimfr 
from  our  good  brother-in-law  and  ally  —  him 
whom  thou  yet  callest  the  Great  Prince  of 
Tverl" 

"  I  have  it,  my  lord." 

"What  saith  it?', 

"  The  Prince  of  Tver  urgeth  the  Polish  King 
against  the  Lord  of  All  Russia." 

"  Now,  as  God  shall  judge  me,  I  have  right  on 
my  side.  Go  and  tell  the  envoys  from  Tver, 
that  I  will  not  receive  them :  I  spoke  a  word  of 
mercy  to  them — they  mocked  at  it.  What  do 
they  take  me  for"?  ...  .  A  bundle  of  rags, 
which  to-day  they  may  trample  in  the  mud,  and 
to-morrow  stick  up  for  a  scarecrow  in  their  gar- 
dens !  Or  a  puppet — to  bow  down  to  it  to-day, 
and  to-morrow  to  cast  it  into  the  mire,  with 
Vuiduibdi,  father,  vuiduibaV.*  No!  they  have 
chosen  the  wrong  man.  They  may  spin  their 
traitorous  intrigues  with  the  King  of  Poland, 
and  hail  him  their  lord;  but  I  will  go  myself 
and  tell  Tver  who  is  her  real  master.  Tease 
me  no  more  with  these  traitors  I" 

Saying  this,  the  Great  Prince  grew  warmer 
and  warmer,  and  at  length  he  struck  his  staflT 
upon  the  ground  so  violently  that  it  broke  in. 
two. 

"Hold  !  here  is  our  declaration  of  war,"  he  ad- 
ded— "yet  one  word  more  :  had  it  bent  it  would 
have  remained  whole." 

*  When  Vladimir,  to  convert  the  Russians  to  Christiani- 
ty, caused  the  image  of  their  idol  Per6un  to  be  thrown 
into  the  Dniepr,  the  people  of  Kleff  are  said  to  have  shout- 
ed "  vuiduihdi,  batioushka,  'duirfuiidi .'"— bAtioushka  signi- 
fies "  father  ;"  but  the  rest  of  the  exclamation  has  never 
been  explained,  though  it  has  passed  into  a  proverb. — T. 
B.  S. 


THE   HERETIC. 


Kourfizin,  taking  the  fatal  fragments,  went 
out.  The  philosopher  of  those  days,  looking  at 
them,  shook  his  head  and  thought — "  Even  so 
breaketh  the  mighty  rival  of  Moscow  !" 

"  God  hath  been  merciful  to  me,"  continued 
the  Great  Prince,  growing  somewhat  calmer : 
"  Rost63  and  Yarosleff  have  renounced  their 
rights:  let  us  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot.  A 
word  is  but  breath ;  but  what  is  written  with  a 
pen  deeds  cannot  blot  out  again,*  as  saith  'my 
little  mannikin  no  bigger  than  my  nail,  with  a 
beard  flowing  to  his  waist,  just  like  a  horse's 
tail.'" 

The  gigantic  beard  almost  touched  the 
ground,  so  low  was  the  bow  made  by  its  dimin- 
utive owner. 

"  But  thou  art  not  the  man,  Beardikin,  to  fin- 
ish this  business;  for  thee  'twill  suflice  to  dis- 
patch a  courier  to  the  voev6da  Daniel  Kh6im- 
skoi,  at  his  estates,  with  my  order  to  repair  to 
Moscow  without  delay ;  and  go  to  Obrazetz, 
and  tell  him,  my  servant,  that  I  do  him  the 
grace  to  place  in  his  house  the  Almayne  leech 
who  Cometh  hither  anon,  and  command  him  to 
give  him  bread  and  salt,!  and  lo  treat  him  hon- 
ourably. There  is  a  heap  I  have  piled  on 
thee!"' 

"  Zeal  giveth  strength,"  replied  Borodatii ; 
"  mine  would  enable  me  to  bear  a  ton  of  thy  com- 
mands." 

"  Good! — And  thou,  Elizerovitch,  ride  thou  to 
Rost6ffand  Yaroslavl,  and  bind  firmly,  with  the 
knots  of  law,  their  gentle  cession  .  .  ."  Dost  thou 
understand  1" 

"  I  understand,  my  lord." 

Thus  the  Great  Prince  dismissed  all  his  min- 
isters of  the  household,  except  the  dvoretzkoi. 
He  had  honoured  G6useff  with  the  familiar  ap- 
pellation Elizerovitch,  because  his  mission  was 
a  difticult  one,  to  compel,  by  menaces  and  ca- 
resses, the  Princes  of  Rost6tr  and  Yaroslafl'  to 
yield  up  their  territories  to  Ivan  Vassilievitch ; 
a  cession  at  which  they  themselves  had  hint- 
ed. Rousselka  remained,  and  looked  enqui- 
ringly at  the  Great  Prince,  as  if  desiring  to 
let  him  know  that  he  had  something  lo  tell 
him. 

"  What  wouldst  thoul"  enquired  Ivan  Vassi- 
lievitch. 

"  Dost  thou  vouchsafe  to  let  me  speak  a  word 
that  I  have  long  concealed?  ....  I  thought  to 
burv  it  in  my  .soul  lest  it  might  ofltnd  thee,  my 
lord;  but  the  Holy  Virgin  hath  appeared  to  me 
thrice  in  a  dream  :  she  urged  me,  saying,  Speak  ! 
speak !".... 

"  Speak,  then  !  To  the  devil  with  thy  grima- 
ces; time  is  precious." 

"  Is  it  known  to  thee,  that  the  Jewish  heresy 
of  the  sorcerer  Zakherii,  haih  come  over  hither 
from  Nevgorod?  that  it  flourisheth  here  in  Mos- 
cow 1  that  many  shepherds  of  souls  are  tainted 
Willi  it'!  many  boyarins  near  thy  person  are 
fallen  into  this  heresy"?  that  the  chief  leader 
among  them  is  thy  deacon  Kourilzin,  whom 
thou  iiast  so  much  honoured  with  thy  favour? 
Is  it  known  to  lliec,  that  they  are  leading  astray 
the  faithful,  and  even — (he  looked  round  to  lis- 
ten if  any  one  overheard  him,  and  then  added 
^oftIy)  ....  even  thy  daughter-in-law." 


•  The  Ruraiani  «ro  (iTcomlingly  foiid  of  introdnring  in 
their  ronvnrsntion  cithrr  old  HnwR  and  proverbs,  (which  in 
all  roiintrips  arc  geriprnlly  rhymoil.)  or  extempore  senten- 
<e»,  with  the  jinple  and  antitlicsiH  of  such  proverbial  ex- 
jiresHKinii.— T    B.  S. 

t  £read  and  salt— tho  emblems  of  hospitality. — T.  B.  S. 


"  I  know,"  coolly  rejoined  Ivan  Vassilievitch, 
"  that  they  busy  themselves  with  the  philosophical 
sciences — much  good  may  it  do  them  !  Let 
them  alone  so  long  as  they  neglect  not  their  duty  ;. 
but  if  we  listen  to  old  wives'  tales,  we  cannot 
boil  a  pot  o[  slrJii,  let  alone  rule  an  empire.  As 
to  Kourilzin,  I  forbid  thee,  or  any  one  else,  to 
say  any  evil  of  him.  I  can  never  forget  what  he 
hath  done  forme — my  strong  alliance  with  Men- 
gli-Ghirei,  my  league  with  the  King  of  Hunga- 
ry and  the  Hospodar  of  Moldavia  —  all  is  his 
work :  and  if  I  be  strengthened  by  these  allian- 
ces, and  can  now  reach  even  at'Liihuania,  for 
all  this  1  owe  an  obeisance,  yea,  a  low  obei- 
sance, to  Kourilzin.  Be  sure,  I  will  remember 
good  and  evil  to  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  I 
know  how  to  repay  both  the  one  and  the  other. 
Do  thou,  talebearer  as  thou  art,  but  a  lithe  of 
the  good  he  hath  done,  and  thou  shall  know 
me." 

"  It  was  from  devotion  to  thy  person,  my  Lord 
Great  Prince,  that  *  spake.  1  could  not  hold  my 
peace  ....  The  Christian  people  openly  mur- 
mured against  thee"  .... 

At  these  words  the  eyes  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch 
gleamed  with  a  sullen  lire.  He  started  Irom  his 
seat,  clutched  with  a  mighiy  hand  Rousselka's 
throat,  and  shaking  him,  shouted,  breathless 
with  rage: — "  People?  ....  where  is  it?  ...  . 
Show  it  to  me —  let  me  hear  it  murmur,  and  I 
will  throttle  it  as  I  do  thee !  Where  is  this 
people  ?  Speak  !  Whence  cometh  it  ?  .  .  .  . 
There  is  on  earth  a  Russian  monarchy,  and  all 
this,  by  God's  blessing,  lieth  in  me — in  me 
alone!  ....  Dost  thou  hear,  rogue?  Go,  pro- 
claim this  every  where  ....  in  the  markets,  in 
the  churches,  in  every  ward,  in  ever}'  hundred. 
Let  it  be  cried  ....  and  if  the  voice  of  man  be 
too  weak,  let  it  be  clanged  out  by  the  balls, 
thundered  forth  by  the  cannon."  (He  hurled 
the  dvoretzkoi  from  him,  and  began  to  stride  up 
and  down  the  izba  with  long  steps.)  "  In  good 
faith,  a  Christian  people!  ....  Is  it  not  the 
same  that  crouched  for  two  hundred  years  at  the 
Tartar's  foot,  and  bowed  down  lo  his  wooden 
blocks;  that  kissed  the  hand  of  Nfivgorod,  of 
Pskoff',  of  Lithuania;  that  cowered  in  ihe  dust 
before  any  stranger  that  but  lifted  a  stick  over 
it !  .  .  .  .  I  was  the  first  to  sober  it  from  its  foul, 
drunken  fit.  I  set  it  on  its  feet,  and  said — 
'Stand  up,  come  to  thyself;  thou  art  a  Russian!' 
And  this  scum  dareth  to  murmur  against  its 
lord  !  If  I  leave  this  people  now,  what  would 
become  of  il!  It  would  rot  like  a  worm,  be- 
neath the  foot  of  the  first  valiant  passer-by!  .  .  . 
Go,  proclaim  my  favour  to  Kourilzin,  lo  my 
faithful  servant  ....  say  thai  I  bestow  on  him 
a  kafien  of  gold  ....  dost  thou  hear  ?  .  .  .  . 
from  off  my  own  shoulders.  And  sa)-  ii  so  that 
this  fair 'people'  of  thine  may  know  it  ...  . 
Now,  out  of  my  sight,  base  picklhank  !" 

The  dvor^'tzkoi  threw  himself  at  his  sov- 
ereign's feet— "Mercy,  my  lord  and  father;  my 
Kins  blinded  me!"  he  cried.  "  Abate  ihy  wrath, 
and  I  will  do  thee  a  service — thou  wilt  be  pleas- 
ed  The  Prince  of  Ver6ia  is  sick  lo  death. 

A  kinsman  of  mine  came  on  purpose  with  these 

tidings Hasten,  my  lord,  to  send  a  coa- 

tier  before  he  render  up  his  soul  lo  God." 

This  intelligence  went  direct  lo  ihc  Great 
Prince's  hcan"  He  was  Ihundersiriick.  The 
son  of  the  Prince  of  Ver^ia  was  living  in  exile 
in  Lithuania.  Il  was  necessary  for  the  impe- 
rial founder  to  lose  no  time  in  seizing  his  terri- 
tories, lest  he  might  be  anticipated  in  doing  so 


THE    HERETIC. 


29 


by  an  enemy.  "Sick,"  he  added,  changing 
•countenance  ;  "  to  death !  saidst  thou  1" 

"  Mv  kinsman  sailh  that  he  cannot  recover." 

"  Ay,  Mikhiul,thou  canst  do  me  a  service.  I 
■will  never  forget  it.  Thy  brain  is  no  dull  one  . 
...  I  know  not  how  it  came  to  go  astray  but 
now  .  .  .  The  Evil  One,  'tis  plain,  had  entan- 
gled thee  in  old  women's  gossip  ....  In  truth, 
'tis  for  the  first  time  ....  and  haply,  'twas  not 

without  soine  design.     Rise Thou  art  sure 

thou  hast  spoken  to  none  of  the  prince's  sick- 
ness!" 

"  As  God  see'th  me,  to  none.  Bury  me  alive 
in  the  earth  if  I  have  whispered  it  to  any !  1 
know  it,  and  thou,  my  lord,  and  my  kinsman; 
and  him  I  assured  that  he  would  draw  both  me 
and  himself  into  a  noose  if  he  uttered  it." 

"Then  thou,  my  good  Mikhiil,"  (the  Great 
Prince  patted  him  on  the  head  as  a  master  ca- 
resses a  clever  pupil,)  "  speed  thee  now,  this 
very  instant,  secretly  to  Vereia  ....  We  will 
say  that  thou  art  sick.  Ride  haste,  post  haste, 
kill  a  dozen  horses  if  thou  wilt,  only  find  the 
Prince  Mikhail  Andreevitch  alive  ....  What 
thou  wilt,  find  him  hut  alive!  ....  Flatter  him, 
caress  him,  cant  to  him;  if  needful,  frighten  him 
....  and  bring  me  post-haste,  a  bu.xom  letter, 
giving  the  Great  Prince  of  Moscow  his  territory 
—all;  without  remainder  forever— by  reason  of 
his  son's  disobedience." 

And  guilty  was  that  unhappy  son,  who  had 
married  the  niece  of  Sophia  Phominishna,  daugh- 
ter of  Andrew  Palreologos,  but  only  of  having 
accepted  from  Sophia,  some  rich  jewels,  which 
-had  belonged  to  Ivm's  first  wife ;  a  present 
which  the  Great  Prince  had  demanded  back. 
These  jewels  were  only  needed  by  the  Great 
Prince  as  a  ground  of  quarrel.  The  young 
prince  had  purchased  them  dearly  by  the  loss  to 
Russia  of  Vereia,  Yaroslavetz,  and  Baylo-Ozero. 

"  Wait  not  for  instructions,"  continued  Ivan 
Vassilievitch.  "Thou  shalt  have  a  hundred 
roubles — dost  thou  hear  1  a  hundred  roubles  and 
my  thanks." 

As  he  said  this,  he  trembled  with  eagerness. 

A  hundred  roubles  were  dancing  before  the 
eyes  of  the  greedy  dvoretzkoi ;  but  they  did  not 
deprive  him  of  his  habitual  cunning.  "And 
w^hat  if  he  stretch  out  his  legs  before  1  come  1" 
he  asked. 

"  He  must  not,  he  cannot ....  dost  thou  mark 
mel     If  he  doth,  come  not  back  to  me." 

"  I  can  make  a  dead  man  sign." 

Here  Roussalka  finished  his  phrase  with  a 
gesture. 

With  the  promise  of  a  hundred  roubles  and 
favour  he  was  dispatched  to  Vereia.  And  the 
late  threatening  storm — it  had  all  passed  away 
....  How,  then,  had  he  committed  the  blunder 
of  making  his  inopportune  complaints  1  Was 
it  a  blunder  1  No,  this  was  an  artful  com- 
mencement of  his  attack.  It  was  expedient  for 
him  to  support  the  members  of  Zakharii's  sect 
— they  had  bribed  him.  For  the  attainment  of 
this  object,  it  was  far  the  most  feasible  course  to 
speak  against  them,  and  take  the  side  of  their 
opponents — that  is,  of  the  populace.  In  this 
manner  he  could  represent  the  people  to  the 
sovereign,  jealous  of  his  power,  as  a  second 
power,  which  dared  to  oppose  itself  to  him, 
though  only  by  words.  As  he  had  calculated, 
so  it  turned  out.  The  Great  Prince  was  indig- 
nant against  those  who  had  dared  to  censure 
him.  In  case  of  personal  danger,  Rouss;ilka 
had,  i?i  pctlo,  the  news  of  the  Prince  of  Vereia's 


illness.  And  thus,  on  all  points,  he  had  played 
a  winning  game :  from  the  sectarians  he  had  re- 
ceived large  presents;  from  Ivan  Vassilievitch 
a  hundred  roubles— a  considerable  sum  at  that 
time  ....  and,  above  all,  an  augmentation  of  the 
Great  Prince's  favour.  As  to  the  kick,  that  was 
a  thing  he  cared  not  about. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   INHABITANTS    OF  THE   STONE    PALACE. 

O,  the  c6urt  of  the  Tsnr  stands  on  s6ven  versts, 

Stands  on  s6ven  versts — on  eight  pillars  tall. 

In  the  midst  of  the  oiiurt.  i'  the  midst  of  the  square^ 

There  be  thr6e  towers  fiir, 

Thr6e  towers  fair,  golden  pinnacled  : 

In  the  first  tower  shineth  a  golden  sun, 

In  the  next  tiiwcr  shineth  a  gleaming  raoon, 

In  the  third  t6wer  shine  starlets  numberless. 

In  the  centre  of  the  ciiij* — namely,  on  the  very 
spot  where,  even  in  our  own  memory,  stood  the 
stone  cannon-yard,  and  which  in  its  turn  has 
been  taken  down — was  situated  the  magnificent 
house  of  the  Muscovite  voevoda,  the  boyaria 
Vassilii  Feodorovitch  Simskoi,  surnamed  Obra- 
zetz.  His  mansion  skirted  on  one  side  the  small 
square,  the  centre  of  which  was  occupied  by  the 
church  of  St.  Nicholas-of-the-Flax,  at  the  turn- 
ing below  Konstantino-Yelen&tfskaia  Street,  and 
on  the  other  it  abutted  on  the  wail  of  the  Kreml. 
The  house  being  constructed  of  stone  by  the 
skill  of  foreign  artists,  and  called  by  them  &  pal- 
ace (palazzo,)  the  Russians  of  that  epoch  adopt- 
ed the  name  of  ■paUtli  (palace,)  to  designate  a 
house  of  stone.  At  that  time  there  existed  but 
two  of  these— that  of  Obrazetz,  and  that  of  the 
mayor  of  Moscow. 

It  was  chiefly  the  palace  of  the  voev6da  that 
the  crowd  went  to  admire.  For  some  weeks 
it  was  besieged  by  them.  And  how  could  they 
but  wonder  1  Children,  whether  in  units,  or  as  a 
crowd  of  units,  love  toys;  and  Obrazetz's  house 
was  a  great  stone  toy,  such  as  had  never  been 
seen  in  Russia.  Not  only  were  the  walls  as 
extensive  as  some  streets  in  Moscow,  but  won- 
drous subtleties  of  art  were  carved  on  it  wherev- 
er you  looked,  as  if  by  the  hand  of  a  magician. 
The  windows  were  small,  and  seemed,  as  it 
were  by  stealth,  to  pierce  the  walls,  as  though 
fearful  of  hurting  the  owner's  eyes  by  too  much 
light.  Above  and  below  each  window  were 
seen  the  palm  branches  which  were  strewed  un- 
der the  feet  of  Christ  on  Palm  Sunday,  and  the 
bunches  of  grapes  with  which  Noah  made  him- 
self drunk.  Thus  the  spectators  expounded  the 
external  decorations  of  the  house.  All  this  was 
carved  in  stone,  and  displayed  a  wondrous  skill. 
All  the  projections  were  decorated  with  yellov/ 
paint,  and  the  hollows  between  them  with  light 
blue.  'Twas  marvellously  beautiful!  Thereof, 
of  German  iron,  beaten  out  as  thin  as  the  leaf 
upon  the  tree,  glittered  like  fire.  Look  into  the 
court,  and  there  are  fresh  wonders !  Two  flights 
of  steps,  descending  on  either  side,  seem  to  em- 
brace the  court-yard.  These  are  covered  by  a 
kind  of  canopy,  bordered  with  an  architrav^e  sup- 
ported on  twisted  columns,  such  as  are  not  to  be 
seen  even  in  the  Great  Prince's  palace.  A  tur- 
ret is  fixed  above  along  the  roof,  either  by  the 
skill  of  man  or  the  power  of  the  fiend,  and  hangs 
in  the  air  like  a  swallow's  nest:  below  it  is  at- 


*  The  "  city,"  in  Moscow,  is  a  comparatively  small  space 
near  the  Kreml,  now  occupied  by  the  gostinnoi  dvor,  or 
bazar. 


THE   HERETIC. 


tached,  somehow  or  other,  a  winding  staircase. 
On  three  sides  of  the  tcfwer  are  windows,  glazed 
with  little  round  panes  of  glass,  (no  small  won- 
der in  those  days:)  when  the  sun  shines  on  it,  it 
looks  like  a  lantern  with  a  multitude  of  candles 
lighted  in  it.  Look  out  of  the  window  towards 
the  Kreml,  you  will  see  the  cannon-yard,  the 
Red  Square,  the  shops,  Varskaia  Street,  and  the 
Spass-v-Tchegaaskh  beyond  the  Ya6uza.  Look 
from  the  middle  window,  you  will  behold  the 
Great  Street  running  along  the  bank  of  the 
Moskva,  the  river  with  all  its  windings,  from 
SimonolT  monastery  to  Vorobei  Sel6,  and  the 
whole  of  the  city  beyond  the  Moskva,  just  as  in 
a  picture.  Closer  to  you,  along  the  town  hill, 
extend  izb:is,  one  beyond  tlie  other,  stretching  to 
Konstantino-Yelenoffskaia  Street,  and  you  can 
look  into  their  courts  as  if  into  your  own.  Near- 
er yet,  below  you,  lies  the  apple-garden,  in  which 
you  can  almost  count  every  leaf  From  the  third 
window,  the  beautiful  side  of  the  city,  from  the 
Great  Prince's  palace  to  the  Taim'nskia  gate, 
was  painted,  with  all  its  churches,  as  if  on  the 
canvass.  But,  above  all,  you  should  see  the 
mew  in  the  court !  The  architect  has  raised  on  it 
a  spire  with  a  golden  ball,  that  flashes  in  the  sky. 
Long  was  this  considered  to  be  the  work  of 
the  Evil  One ;  its  owner,  the  voev6da,  a  com- 
panion in  arms  of  Daniel  Dmftrii  Kholmskoi  at 
the  siege  of  N6vgorod,  and  next  to  that  celebra- 
ted leader  in  military  renown,  was  assuredly  no 
coward :  this  surname  of  Obrazetz  (pattern  or 
model)  was  given  to  him  from  his  always  fight- 
ing in  the  van  of  his  troops;  but  when  about  to 
remove  into  his  new  house,  a  shudder  came  over 
his  heart:  he  would  rather  have  stricken  battle, 
one  against  ten,  with  German  men-at-arms,  or 
Tartars,  or  volunteers  of  N6vgorod,  than  face 
the  evil  spirit  even  in  a  single  form.  It  is  true, 
for  his  tranquillity  and  that  of  his  family,  every 
means  had  been  employed  to  expel  the  unclean 
spirit  that  must  have  entered  a  house  construct- 
ed by  foreigners  and  infidel  heretics.  They 
had  burned  incense  to  such  a  degree  that  you 
could  hardly  breathe,  had  sung  masses,  and  had 
sprinkled  with  Epiphany-water*  every  part  of 
the  house,  habitable  or  not.  They  had  fixed  in 
all  the  passages  and  over  every  door  and  gate, 
copper  crosses  with  huly  images  upon  them,  and 
chiefly  with  the  efligy  of  St.  Nikfta,  who  drives 
away  the  devil  with  his  stafl!".  In  this  way  they 
hoped  to  secure  their  dwelling  also  from  the  fu- 
ture incursions  of  the  unclean  one  :  they  held  the 
house-warming  feast  on  the  day  of  St.  Simeon 
the  year-bringer,  that  is,  on  the  first  of  Septem- 
ber, which  was  considered  new-year's  day.  They 
did  not,  however,  forget  the  Chief  Master  of  the 
house,  the  Domestic  Genius,  who  is  still  called 
by  this  name  in  the  villages.  Without  him, 
they  say,  the  house  cannot  stand.  The  oldest 
w  man  in  the  familv  went  to  the  hearth  of  the 
former  dwelling,  look  some  lighted  coals  in  a 
potsherd  from  the  stove— inviting,  as  she  did  so, 
S(»iubor/>j  to  come  out,  and  then  rolled  up  the 
fire  in  a  cloth;  the  gate  was  opened,  Obrazetz 
with  all  his  household  came  lo  meet  the  old 
■woman  with  "  bread  and  salt,"  bowed  first  slight- 
ly, then  again,  a  third  time,  then  a  fourth,  very 


*  It  is  pretty  well  known,  that  one  of  the  most  iwrulinr 
and  nirikinR  cfrfnioniog  of  the  Russian  church  i.i  the  solemn 
lilessinKof  the  wiitcni  on  the  dny  of  the  Kpiphnny.  A  por- 
tion of  the  water  so  ronserrntcd  is  preserved  in  every  housn 
fur  the  whole  year,  and  is  8iii>|H»ed  to  possess  very  irrcat 
virtues;  in  particular  it  is  held,  whrn  drunk  or  sprinkled, 
to  lie  iin  antidote  to  the  eflects  of  magic  and  the  evil  eve. — 
T.  U.  S. 


low ;  shook  his  hoary  head,  and  invited  Some-- 
body  into  the  new  house,  in  the  following  words 
— •"  Grandsire,  we  beseech  thee,  come  with  us  to 
a  new  abode."  Then  the  door  of  the  house  was 
opened,  the  old  woman  released  Somebodv  from 
the  cloth  into  the  new  stove,  placed  there  also 
the  lighted  coals,  (not  forgetting  a  supply  of  fuel 
for  the  mystic  fire:)  the  bread  and  salt  are  set  on^ 
the  great  table,  the  guests  assemble,  and  the' 
house-warming  begins.  The  domestic  Penates 
being  thus  installed,  what  is  there  to  fear!  they 
must  only  take  care  not  to  offend  the  house-spir- 
it. The  Muster  was  once,  and  but  once  oflended : 
he  took  a  dislike  to  a  black  charger  which  the 
boyarin  had  lately  bought.  Once  he  scared  him 
all  night  long,  rode  him  like  a  hundred  hell  cats, 
tore  out  the  hair  of  his  mane,  and  kept  blowing 
into  his  ears  and  nostrils.  They  soon  guessed 
that  the  Master  was  displeased;  to  quiet  him, 
they  sold  the  horse,  and  kept  no  more  black  ones. 
They  also  hung  up  a  bear's  head  in  the  stable, 
to  prevent  any  houseless  spirit  from  fighting 
with  the  Master,  and  gaining  any  advantage 
over  him.  At  length  the  house  spirit  was  ap- 
peased, and  the  inmates  of  the  Stone  Palace  en- 
joyed all  the  benefits  of  his  paternal  care. 

Yes,  Russia  was  then  filled  with  enchantment. 
A  host  of  prejudices  and  superstitions,  survivors- 
of  the  infancy  of  the  world — the  mythic  age, 
spirits  and  genii,  flying  in  multitudinous  swarms 
from  India  and  the  far  north,  formed  alliance 
with  our  giants  and  jesters;  princesses,  princes, 
knights  of  the  west,  brought  hither  in  the  wal- 
lets of  Italian  artists :  all  the.se  peopled  at  that 
epoch  houses,  forests,  and  air,  and  rendered  our 
Russia  a  kind  of  poetic  world,  a  creation  of  en- 
chantment. Spirits  greeted  the  new-born  infant 
at  its  entrance  into  life,  rocked  it  in  the  cradle, 
wandered  with  the  child  as  he  gathered  flowers 
in  the  meadow,  splashed  him  as  he  paddled  in 
the  streamlet,  hallooed  to  him  in  the  woods,  and 
led  him  to  the  labyrinih  where  our  earthly  The- 
seuses  were  to  vanquish  the  foul  Minotaur,  the 
demon  of  the  wood,  by  turning  their  coat  inside 
out,*  or  by  charms  purchased  of  an  old  woman, 
our  Russian  Medea.  Spirits  were  throned  in 
the  eyes.  The  Evil  Eyes,  whose  glance  alone 
could  bring  misfortune,  fell  like  shooting-stars 
on  the  woman  who  yielded  herself  up  lo  soft 
midnight  reverie;  troubled  the  wicked  in  their 
graves,  and  came  forth  in  the  form  of  the  evil- 
doer from  the  tomb,  to  scarce  the  midnight  pas- 
senger, if  good  Christians  had  nut  remembered 
to  drive  a  stout  stake  through  the  coftin.  All 
unusual  accidents,  all  ill-luck  and  violent  pas- 
sions, were  the  work  of  spirits. 

In  an  atmosphere  thus  breathing  enchantment, 
lived  the  family  of  Obrazetz,  composing  that 
household  which  we  are  about  lo  visit. 

Read  through  the  chronicles  of  this  period, 
and  you  will  more  than  once  encounter  the  name 
of  Obrazetz  among  the  warriors  who  fought 
against  N6vgorod,  the  Lithuanians,  and  the 
Tartars.  Look  upon  Vassilii  Feodoroviich  when 
sixty  years  had  strewn  his  head  with  snow,  and 
you  will  .say  that  glance,  sparkling  with  fire, 
must  have  fallen  upon  the  enemy  like  the  ire  of 
the  e.ngle;  that  giant  arm,  waving  the  falchion, 
must  have  levelled  ranks  of  dead  before  it:  that 
broad  and  grizzled  chest,  that  Herculean  stature, 
were  created  to  be  a  bulwark  ot  war.     Having 


*  To  avert  the  evil  conseiiurnres  attendant  upon  tin 
nu-etinfr  with  the  Laytovik,  the  Russian  wood-domon,  i 
was  necessary  to  turn  the  sh6>il>a  inside  out.  The  saim 
sujH!rstilion  is  fotma  m  Scotland  and  England — T-  B.  S. 


THE   HERETIC. 


31 


paid  to  his  count»-y  his  tribute  of  service  as  a 
warrior,  lor  which  he  was  rewarded  with  the 
dignity  of  boyarin,  a.  rank  then  very  rarely  con- 
ferred, he  paid  a  second  tribute,  as  a  courtier,  to 
the  Great  Prince,  by  erecting,  to  gratify  him,  a 
stone  palace.  Here  he  lived  quietly,  hitherto 
undisturbed  by  Ivdn,  beloved  by  his  friends,  re- 
spected by  the  people,  a  kind  father,  a  stern  but 
benevolent  master ;  here  he  hoped  to  devote  the 
last  years  of  his  life  to  calm  retirement,  and  to 
prepare  himself  for  eternity  by  the  practice  of 
religion  and  charity.  Raised  above  the  crowd 
by  rank  and  wealth,  he  was,  however,  by  no 
means  exempt  from  its  prejudices  ;  he  loved  his 
neighbour  according  to  the  law  of  Christ,  but 
under  that  title  he  included  his  countrymen 
alone :  whatever  was  not  Russian,  was  with  him 
on  the  level  of  a  dog:  the  Italians — ov  foreigiiers 
as  they  were  called  at  that  time — he  suffered  in 
his  house,  and  honoured  with  his  society,  be- 
cause they  had  built,  or  were  preparing  to  build, 
churches  to  God ;  the  Bolognese  architect,  Al- 
bert Fioraventi,  otherwise  called  Aristotle,  he 
respected  as  an  engineer,  as  the  future  builder  of 
the  Cathedral  of  the  Assumption,  and  still  more 
as  the  father  of  a  child  who  had  been  christened 
after  the  Russian  rite.  But  the  Germans,  the 
unbelieving  Germans,  he  abhorred  with  all  the 
strength  of  a  soul — fierce,  indeed,  but  not  mali- 
cious. This  sentiment  in  him,  finding  its  source 
in  popular  prejudice,  was  still  further  strength- 
ened by  a  particular  event ;  he  could  never  par- 
don the  Germans  for  the  death  of  a  beloved  son, 
who  had  been  killed  before  his  eyes.  This  son 
had  but  recently  completed  his  sixteenth  year, 
the  ceremony  of  the  postriga*  had  only  just'been 
performed  on  him,  when  his  father  had  enticed 
him  from  his  mother's  side  to  the  war  against 
the  Livonians.  How  he  admired  his  warrior- 
beauty,  shadowed  by  the  plumed  helm,  his  youth- 
ful fire  and  bravery,'which  gave  the  promise  of 
his  one  day  becoming  a  renowned  chief!  and 
this  beauty,  this  pride,  this  hope,  was  mown 
down  in  an  instant  by  the  steel  of  a  foul  heretic. 
Years  passed  on ;  but  ever  in  the  old  man's 
dreams  rose  the  image  of  his  beauteous  strip- 
ling, as,  streaming  with  blood,  he  raised  from 
the  dust  his  head,  clouded  with  the  shadow  of 
death,  crossed  himself,  and  threw  on  the  father 
a  look  ...  a  farewell  look.  Then  the  enemy's 
horses  had  trampled  him  under  their  hoofs.  O  ! 
the  father  would  never  forget  that  look — to  his 
last  gasp  he  would  remember  it.  Never  would 
he  forget  the  mother's  cry,  calling  on  him  to 
render  account  what  he  had  done  with  her  dai-- 
ling  child.  She  had  not  long  survived  her  be- 
reavement. Henceforth  Obrazetz  revenged  this 
loss  upon  all  the  Germans,  by  a  hatred  which 
fur  them  could  know  no  pity.  As  to  the  slayer 
of  his  son,  he  had  not  broken  his  mace  of  arms 
on  his  liead — no,  he  had  made  him  prisoner, 
b.ound  him  to  his  horse's  tail,  and  galloped 
through  the  forest,  dragging  him  over  stock  and 
stone,  till  he  had  left  nothing  of  his  foe  but 
bloody  tatters  to  feast  the  wolves.  He  conceal- 
ed not  his  detestation  of  the  German  even  in 
the  Great  Prince's  presence.  On  one  occasion, 
in  the  very  audience-chamber,  he  had  called  the 
Knight  Poppel,  the  German  ambassador,  a  foul 
heretic.     It  was  with  difficulty  that   they  ap- 


"  Posti  i^a,  cutting  the  hair  ;  a  religious  ceremony  equiv- 
alent to  the  assumption  of  the  "  virile  gown"  (also  accom- 
panleil  by  cutting  the  hair)  amonpr  the  Romans  ;  it  was 
perf.irme'l  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  after  which  the  boy  was 
supposed  tit  for  war  &c. — X.  B.  S. 


peased  the  wrath  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch ;  the- 
Great  Prince,  who  insisted  that  all  should  re* 
spect  those  whom  he  deigned  to  honour,  and 
should  dislike  whatever  he  did  not  love,  retain- 
ed in  his  mind  the  memory  of  this  insult,  notr 
withstanding  the  great  services  of  Obrazetz. 

The  voev6da  had  still  a  son,  Ivan  Khabar*- 
Slmskoi — (Remark,  that  in  those  times,  children 
frequently  did  not  bear  the  name  of  their  father, 
or,  when  they  did,  bore  an  additional  designa- 
tion. These  surnames  were  given  either  by  the 
Great  Prince,  or  by  the  people,  for  some  exploit 
or  some  bad  action,  and  generally  indicated 
some  bodily  or  mental  quality) — Ivan  Khabar, 
then  about  twenty-two  or  twenty-three  years  old, 
tall,  black-browed,  black-eyed,  handsome  ;  in  a 
word,  the  model  of  a  young  Russian  gallant. 
He  had,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  shown  his 
courage  before  the  enemy;  he  had  accompanied 
the  volunteers  of  Souroj  against  Viatka,  and 
against  the  M6rdvui-na  Lejakh ;  he  wasted  his 
valour  in  brawls  with  his  countrymen,  in  night 
forays,  in  the  life  of  a  hot-headed  scapegrase — 
"  Ho,  Ivan,  thy  pate  is  not  over  firm  upon  thy^ 
shoulders  !"  his  father  would  often  say.  "  'Twill" 
last  long  enough  for  me,  father !"  was  his  an- 
swer. Often  did  the  sire  shut  his  eyes  to  his 
son's  pranks,  in  the  hope  that  his  boiling,  vehe- 
ment spirit  would  subside,  and,  like  a  torrent 
swelled  by  rain,  return  in  due  time  to  its  banks  r 
the  bounds  fixed  by  God,  thought  he,  no  man 
can  pass ;  thou  can.st  not  outride  thy  destiny. 
The  young  steed,  though  he  may  have  a  spice 
of  the  devil  in  him,  will  yet  be  a  destrier;  the 
jade — even  when  a  colt — is  nothing  but  a  jade. 

But  the  old  man's  best  consolation  and  hope, 
the  treasure  which  he  was  never  weary  of  gazing 
on,  was  his  daughter  Anastasia.  The  fame  of 
her  loveliness  had  spread  all  through  Moseow, 
far  beyond  the  walls  of  her  parental  dwelling, 
the  lofty  enclosure  and  the  bolted  gates.  The 
female  connoisseurs  in  beauty  could  find  no 
fault  in  her,  except  that  she  was  somewhat  too 
slight  and  flexible,  like  a  young  birch-tree. 
Aristotle,  who  in  his  time  had  beheld  many 
Italian,  German,  and  Hungarian  beauties,  and 
who  enjoyed  frequent  opportunities  of  seeing 
Anastasia — the  artist  Aristotle  used  to  affirm, 
that  he  had  never  encountered  any  thing  so  love- 
ly. "  The  Signorina  Anastasia,"  he  would  say, 
"  though,  by  her  fair  complexion,  evidently  a 
child  of  the  snowy  North,  by  the  splendour  of 
her  dark  eyes,  by  the  voluptuous  langour  which 
is  shed  around  her  form,  is  exactly  like  one  of 
my  own  countrywomen.  Were  I  a  painter,  I 
would  take  her  to  personify  the  glowing  Aurora 
when  about  to  plunge  into  the  embrace  of  her 
burning  bridegroom."  The  artist  always  stop- 
ped to  gaze  on  her  with  singular  rapture.  Iv»a 
the  Young,  the  Great  Prince's  eldest  son  by  his 
first  wife,  one  day  ran  unexpectedly  into  Obra- 
zetz's  garden,  in  sportive  pursuit  of  Khab ir- 
Simskoi,  for  whom  he  had  a  great  regard,  and 
finding  there  his  friend's  sister,  stood  before  her 
like  oue  in  a  dream,  like  a  man  thunderstruck. 
He  had  entertained  the  intention  of  espousing 
her ;  but  his  ambitious  father,  who  sought  in  the 
marriages  of  his  children,  unions,  not  of  affec- 
tion, biU  of  policy,  forced  him  to  the  altar  with 
Helena,  daughter  of  Stephen,  hospodar  of  Mol- 
davia, (converted  to  our  faith  as  Voev&da  of 
Vallachia,  whence  the  bride  was  called  Hel- 
ena Voloshanka  of  Vallachia.)  The  old  wom- 
en who  know  every  thing,  are  sure  of  every 
thing — the  witches  discovered  that  the  yoving- 


32 


THE    HERETIC. 


Prince  had  exactly  at  that  time  begun  to  pine 
and  languish;  he  never  ceased  to  cherish  the 
closest  attachineot  to  Khabar,  in  which  perhaps 
another'feeling  was  concealed. 

Anasiasia  was  altogether,  in  body  and  soul, 
something  wonderful.  From  her  very  infancy 
Providence  had  stamped  her  with  the  seal  of 
the  marvellous;  when  she  was  born  a  star  had 
fallen  on  the  house — on  her  bosom  she  bore  a 
mark  resembling  a  cross  within  a  heart.  When 
ten  years  old,  she  dreamed  of  palaces  and  gar- 
dens, such  as  eye  had  never  seen  on  earth,  and 
faces  of  unspeakable  beauty,  and  voices  that 
sang,  and  self-moving  dulcimers  that  played,  as 
it  were,  within  her  heart,  so  sweetly  and  so  well, 
that  tongue  could  never  describe  it ;  and,  when 
she  awoke  from  those  dreams,  she  lelt  a  light 
pressure  on  her  feet,  and  she  thought  she  per- 
ceived that  something  was  resting  on  them  with 
■white  wings  folded;  it  was  very  sweet,  and  yet 
aw.ul — and  in  a  moment  all  was  gone.  Some- 
times she  would  meditate,  sometimes  she  would 
dream,  .^he  knew  not  what.  Often,  when  pros- 
trate bel'ore  the  image  of  the  Mother  of  God,  she 
wept ;  and  these  tears  she  hid  from  the  world,  like 
some  holy  thing  sent  down  to  her  from  on  high. 
She  loved  all  that  was  marvellous;  and  therefore 
she  loved  the  tales,  the  legends,  the  popular 
songs  and  stories  oftho.se  days.  How  greedily 
did  she  listen  to  her  nurse !  and  what  marvels 
did  the  eloquent  old  woman. unfold,  to  the  young, 
burning  imagination  of  her  foster  child  !  Anas- 
tasia,  sometimes  abandoning  herself  to  poesy, 
■would  lorget  .sleep  and  food;  sometimes  her 
dreams  concluded  the  unfinished  tale  more  viv- 
idly, more  eloquently  far. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   T.\LE-TELLER   AND  THE   MESSENGER. 

We  have  already  said  that  the  Feast  of  St. 
Hierasimus  was  come.  It  was  noon.  Vassl- 
lii  Feodorovitch  Obrazeiz,  having  been  reposing, 
according  to  the  Russian  custom,  after  dinner, 
was  about  to  wash  his  face,  which  was  heated 
with  sleep.  This  was  done,  without  the  assist- 
ance of  a  servant,  in  a  copper  hand-basin,  the 
present  of  the  famous  Aristotle;  the  utensil  was 
fixed  above  a  tub,  as  clean  and  bright  as  if  it 
liad  just  left  the  carpenter's  hands — a  wondrous 
gift !  Touch  but  a  handle  at  the  bottom,  and 
water  gushes  forth  as  from  a  fountain.  Then 
lie  took  a  towel  bordered  with  line  lace,  the 
work  of  Anastasia,  which  was  hanging  on  a 
nail  ready  for  the  hand  of  its  owner.  A  horn 
comb,  dipped  in  iinass  mixed  with  honey,  was 
passed  lluoiigh  the  hoary  locks  of  his  hair,  ren- 
dering ihcm  smooth  and  flat.  Whether  this  op- 
eration was  well  done  or  not,  he  could  not  as- 
certain himself;  for  in  those  times  a  mirror  had 
been  seen  by  iew.  Aristotle  had  indeed  given 
a  fragment  of  looking  glass  to  Anasiasia;  but 
when  the  inmates  of  the  Stone  Palace  looked 
into  it,  and — defend  us  from  the  foul  fiend! — 
iiirning  their  faces  toward  it,  they  saw  the  Evil 
<  me  rellocted  in  their  vyes,  and  mocking  at  them, 
iliey  threw  away  the  enchanted  mirror,  without 
saying  any  thing  about  it  to  the  foreigner.  Hav- 
ing arranged  his  hair,  the  old  man  put  on  asum- 
iinT  dress,  and  went  inio  a  chamber  which  he 
called  his  armory.  This  was  an  apartment  of 
iideralile  size.  Cin  the  walls,  which  were  dec- 
orated with  glazed  bricks,  were  suspended  steel 


caps  of  coarse  workmanship;  breastplates,  some 
inlaid  with  silver,  and  others  common;  iron 
ones,  stained  with  rust  in  bloody  spots;  kanji- 
ars  (a  weapon  of  the  sword  or  dagger  species, 
rather  smaller  than  the  former,  and  larger  than 
the  latter),  some  of  which,  by  their  delicate  carv- 
ings in  gold  and  other  ornaments,  were  evident- 
ly of  Eastern  origin;  spears  and  pikes;  the 
shcsto-peor*  the  ensign  of  the  rank  of  voev6da, 
similar  to  the  modern  marshal's  baton;  and  sev- 
eral iron  shields  with  square  flutings.  In  the 
angle  of  one  corner  hung  the  image  of  St  George 
the  Victorious;  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
wall  v:ere  two  benches  covered  with  draperj-^  of 
cloth,  and  between  them  an  oak  table,  exquis- 
itely clean,  with  carved  feel  and  drawers ;  on 
this  stood  the  great  mazer-cup,  and  the  silver 
measure,  with  the  accompanying  silver  ladle. 
Before  the  table,  in  the  place  of  hoiwur,  all  re- 
splendent with  arabesques,  was  placed  a  mag- 
nificent chair  of  honour,  shaped  like  those  arm- 
chairs that  fold  up,  the  invention  and  master- 
piece of  some  foreigner. 

Obra-zetz  filled  up  the  measure  with  foaming 
amber-mead,  and  had  hardly  drained  it,  when  the 
knock  of  a  stranger  resounded  on  the  door-post 
of  the  outer  gate.  The  bark  of  the  house-dog 
was  heard ;  it  was  evident,  from  the  master's 
face,  that  the  person  who  arrived  was  an  ex- 
pected guest.  This  was  speedily  proved  ;  two 
visiters  entered  unannounced.  One  was  an  old 
man  of  short  stature,  already  beginning  to  bend 
beneath  the  weight  of  years ;  dark  locks  were 
still  mingled  sparingly  with  his  silver  hair ; 
from  the  top  of  nis  head  to  ihe  corner  of  his  left 

e3-e,  was  trenched  a  deep  gash 

but  you  have  already  recognized,  I  daresay,  the 
tale-teller  and  traveller,  Aphanasii  Nikitin.'  Let 
us  only  remark,  that  he  now  appeared  ten  years 
younger  than  when  we  saw  him  in  the  prison  of 
Dmitrii  Ivanovitch,  thoi^h  there  was  lo  elapse 
between  this  present  period  and  that,  a  space  of 
more  than  twenty  years.  It  is  necessary  to  add, 
that  his  face  now  bore  recent  traces  of  a  tropical 
sun,  acquired  during  his  late  journey  to  India; 
and  that  this  .strong  sunburnt  brown  tint  gave 
him,  at  the  end  of  winter,  an  expression  unu.sual 
in  a  Russian.  I  know  not  whether  I  remarked 
in  my  first  tale  about  him,  that  goodness  of 
heart  was  painted  vividly  in  his  countenance. 
The  other  visiter  was  a  lad  under  fourteen, 
handsome  and  lively.  In  his  large  blue  eyes, 
you  might  plainly  see  that  intellect  was  always 
awake  in  this  favourite  of  Providence.  He  held 
up  his  head  with  a  kind  of  noble  dignity  and 
self-reliance.  The  curls  of  his  fair  hair  had  re- 
luctantly submitted  to  the  scissors ;  they  were 
cut  round  in  the  Russian  fashion,  but  neverthe- 
less they  obstinately  twined,  and  formed  a  sort 
of  coronal  of  ringlets  on  his  head.  Both  the 
old  man  and  the  ""boy  wore  the  Russian  habit; 
but  the  clothes  of  ihe  former  were  jioor,  while 
those  of  his  young  companion  were  of  fine  Ger- 
man cloth,  and  trimmed  with  sable.  Notwith- 
standing this  apparent  inequality  in  their  con- 
dition, the  latter  yielded  precedence  to  the  fiu"- 
mer,  whenever  he  had  an  opportunity  of  show- 
ing respect.     Both,  on  entering  the  apanment, 

*  Shexio-ptnr  (liurallv,  "  six-fetttlipr")— n  w<ni>oii,  and 
ot  lh(i  siini.i  linio  tho  ensign  of  commiind,  of  llic  voct_.Iii 
iir  coiirml,  similar  to  tho  mnrshiil's  Imton  of  our  days. 
It  r.spiiit.li-a  the  massc-d'arnips  of  tho  thirteenth  and  four- 
lociith  centurii-s,  l)cinff  nn  iron  staff,  with  a.  kuob  at  the 
01.(1,  armr.l  with  pronifs  of  iron.  Many  of  those  instru- 
nioi.ts,  s..mo  richly  piWed  and  iiiluid,  arc  preserved  in  Ihu 
armory  of  Moscow. — T.  B.  S. 


THE    HERETIC. 


33 


^:nade  three  signs  of  the  cross  before  the  image, 
pronouncing  the  words — "Lord,  have  mercy  !" 
and  then  bowing  to  the  master  of  the  house, 
with  the  salutation— "God  give  you  health!" 
The  elder  stopped  and  left  his  staff  near  the 
<loor. 

"  Welcome,  Andri6usha  !"  said  Vassilii  Feo- 
dorovitch,  sealing  himself  with  luxurious  delib- 
eration on  his  chair,  which  creaked  under  his 
portly  weight,  and  kissing  the  top  of  the  boy's 
head;  then  turning  to  the  old  man,  he  contin- 
ued— "Right  welcome,  Aph6nia;  sit  down  in 
the  best  pface ;  honour  be  given  every  where  to 
the  tale-teller  and  traveller.  Entertain  us  now 
-with  an  account  of  the  way  they  make  war  in 
the  Indies,  o]loperv6diger." 

In  employing  this  barbarous  word,  Obrazetz 
meant  to  jest  with  the  tale-teller,  who  was  fond 
of  introducing  into  his  stories  strange-sounding 
phrases,  which  he  called  Hindostane. 

"The  veteran  voevoda  is  like  an  old  falcon, 
which,  though  no  longer  able  to  fly  after  its  prey, 
y^et  struggleth  towards  it,  and  flappeth  its  wings. 
Be  it  related  as  thou  wilt,  boyarin ;  thy  words  are 
■commandments.  We  will  not  throw  thy  bread 
and  sail  into  the  dirt,"  replied  the  old  man,  seat- 
ing himself  cautiously  on  the  bench ;  "  but  I 
must  beware  lest  I  dirty  the  cover,  my  lord;  me- 
Ihinks,  'tis  tine  cloth  from  over-sea." 

"  If  thou  dost,  we  will  put  on  another;  and  we 
have  plenty.  Now,  how  fareth  thy  father  1"  ad- 
ded Obrazetz,  holding  the  boy  between  his  knees, 
and  laying  his  hand  on  hi?  shoulder. 

"  He  is  ever  sad  ;  Ivan  Vassilievitch  will  not 
give  him  enough  ground  for  the  cathedral." 

"  I  suppose,  then,  he  would  take  in  the  whole 
chyl" 

"Nay,  he  who  would  build  a  temple  to  the 
Creator  of  the  World  ought  not  to  lack  space," 
replied  the  youth  proudly. 

"  I  love  Andrei  for  his  wise  speech  1"  cried  the 
boyarin  with  affection.  "  But  it  is  of  no  use  to 
waste  time  in  vain.  Run  to  thy  godmother,  and 
bring  her  hither,  to  hear  the  tales  of  the  traveller 
Aphanasii  Nikitin." 

And  Andrei,  the  son  of  the  architect  Aristotle, 
flew  to  fulfil  the  boyarin's  bidding.  From  the 
chamber,  which  for  the  present  we  shall  call  the 
armoury,  folding-doors  of  iron,  capable  of  being 
closed  with  a  bolt,  but  now  open,  led  to  a  dark 
corridor,  from  whence  a  flight  of  steps,  with  a 
balustrade,  ascended  to  the  apartment  of  Anas- 
tasia.  On  the  other  side,  from  the  boyarin's  back 
chambers  in  the  right  wing  of  the  house,  another 
staircase  wound  up  to  the  same  room,  and  both 
met  in  the  well-warmed  upper  hall  which  divi- 
ded Anastasia's  chamber  from  her  nurse's  room. 

Andrei,  on  reaching  this  antechamber,  knock- 
ed at  a  door  covered  with  felt,  and  making  his 
voice  as  harsh  and  at  the  same  lime  as  plaintive 
as  he  could,  sang — 

"  Little  children  frank  and  free, 
Ope  the  gate  now  hastilie  ; 
'Tis  your  mother,  come  and  see  ' 
Mother  bringing  milk  for  ye."* 

An  agreeable  voice  was  heard  from  within — 
"How  thou  scaredst  me,  little  wolf  ....  what 
wouldst  thou  1" 

The  ambassador  then  explained  the  object  of 
his  mission;  the  click  of  the  latch  was  heard, 
and  Anaslasia  appeared,  carrying  a  little  cush- 
ion for  working  lace.     Delight  was  painted  on 


*  A  verse  of  the  Ru.ssian  nursery-tale,  answering  to  our 
"  Little  Red  Riding-hood."  It  is,  of  conrse,  the  wolfs  re- 
quest for  admittance 

c 


her  beautiful  countenance.  "  Welcome,  my 
dove !"  she  said,  kissing  her  godson  on  the  fore- 
head. He  took  the  cushion  from  her,  and  both, 
like  a  pair  of  birds,  flew  to  the  armoury'.  "  How 
fareth  it  with  thee,  father  1"  asked  Anaslasia, 
bowing  low  to  the  traveller,  as  she  hastened  to 
place  herself,  with  her  work,  close  to  him  on  the 
bench.  Her  godson  seated  himself  on  a  stool  at; 
the  feel  of  Obrazetz. 

"With  the  help  of  your  prayers,  we  creep 
along  reasonably  well  at  a  fool's  pace,"  replied 
Aphanasii  Nikitin;  "  and  dost  thou  still  roll,  as 
of  old,  my  round  pearl,  in  thy  father's  palm  1 
Are  ye  sealed,  lordings,  and  ready  to  hear  once 
more  the  wanderings  of  a  sinful  traveller  over 
three  seas,  blue  and  wavyl  The  first  sea,  keep 
in  mind,  the  sea  of  Derbend,  or  the  Caspian 
ocean ;  second  .sea,  the  Indian,  or  the  ocean  of 
Hindostan ;  the  third,  the  Black  Sea,  the  oceaa 
of  Stamboul." 

These  seas  were  the  Tveritchanin's  "cheval  de 
bataillc ;  they  served  sometimes  as  a  keynote, 
sometimes  as  a  prelude,  to  his  tales. 

"  We  are  sealed,"  said  Obrazetz ;  and  all  was 
attention. 

How  charmingly  these  four  figures  were 
grouped!  How  noble  was  the  aged  man,  free 
from  stormy  passions,  finishing  the  pilgrimage 
of  life  !  You  seemed  to  behold  him  in  pure 
white  raiment,  ready  to  appear  before  his  heav- 
enly judge.  Obrazetz  was  the  chief  of  the  parly 
in  years,  in  grave  majestic  dignity,  and  patriarch- 
al 'air.  Crossing  his  arms  upon  his  staff,  he 
covered  them  with  his  beard,  downy  as  the  soft 
fleece  of  a  lamb  ;  the  glow  of  health,  deepened 
by  the  cup  of  strong  mead,  blushed  through  the 
snow-while  hair  with  which  his  cheeks  were 
thickly  clothed;  he  listened  with  singular  atten- 
tion and  delight  to  the  story-teller.  This  pleas- 
ure was  painted  on  his  face,  and  shone  brightly 
in  his  eyes;  from  time  to  lime  a  smile  of  good- 
humoured  mockery  flitted  across  his  lips,  but 
this  was  only  the  innocent  offspring  of  irony 
which  was  raised  in  his  good  heart  by  Aph6nia's 
boasting  (for  very  iew  story-tellers,  you  know, 
are  free  from  this  sin).  Reclining  his  shoulders 
against  the  back  of  his  arm-chair,  he  shut  his 
eyes,  and,  laying  his  broad  hairy  hand  upon  An- 
driousha's  head,  he  softly,  gently  dallied  with  the 
boy's  flaxen  locks.  On  his  countenance  the 
gratification  of  curiosity  was  mingled  with  affec- 
tionate tenderness:  he  was  not  dozing,  but  seem- 
ed to  be  losing  himself  in  sweet  reveries.  In  the 
old  man's  visions  arose  the  dear  never-firgolten 
son,  whom  he  almost  fancied  he  was  caressing. 
When  he  opened  his  eyes,  their  white  lashes 
still  bore  traces  of  the  touching  society  of  his 
unearthly  guest;  but  when  he  remarked  that  the 
tear  betra3'ing  the  secret  of  his  heart  had  disturb- 
ed his  companions,  and  made  his  daughter  anx- 
ious, the  former  expression  of  pleasure  ag'ain 
dawned  on  his  face,  and  doubled  the  delighted 
attention  ol'  the  v/hole  party.  Picturesque,  too, 
was  the  story-teller — the  Polyphemus — that  won- 
der amid  the  ignorance  of  his  countrymen — driv- 
en by  the  spirit  of  knowledge  from  the  cradle  of 
the  Volga  to  the  source  of  the  Ganges — from  the 
trader's  shop  under  the  wall  of  the  Church  of 
the  Saviour,  to  the  temple  where  they  bowed 
down  before  the  golden  bull;  and  who  knew  not 
that  he  had  achieved  an  exploit  which  might 
have  given  him  a  glorious  name  in  a  civilizod 
country  1  He  recounted  his  adventures,  some- 
times with  the  simplicity,  sometimes  with  the 
slyness,  of  a  child :   O,  and  he  surely  must  be 


34 


THE    HERETIC. 


among  the  number  of  those  whom  our  Lord  lov- 
ed to  ibndle ;  and  of  whom  he  said,  "  hinder  them 
not  to  come  unto  me !"  The  daughter  of  Obra- 
zetz,  too,  a  young,  lovely  creature,  who  had  ex- 
cited a  lieeiing  of  admiration  in  the  artist,  who 
■was  learned  in  the  beautiful  —  herself  ignorant 
the  while  that  she  was  so  fair,  innocent,  inexpe-. 
rienced,  yet  full  of  life  swelling  to  burst  its 
bounds.  See  how  her  hands,  quitting  the  unfin- 
ished llower,  are  lifted  and  held  up  in  the  atti- 
tude of  wonder!  She  is  all  attention;  she  ac- 
companies the  traveller  step  by  step  along  the 
banks  of  the  Ganges;  her  face  seems  to  burn 
with  the  sun  of  India;  her  eyes,  following  her 
imagination,  appear  to  devour  the  distant  space. 
The  boy,  too,  brought  from  the  orange  groves  of 
Ausonia,  from  the  gondola  rocking  to  the  har- 
monious love-song  on  the  waves  of  the  Adriatic, 
to  the  snow-wreaths  of  Muscovy,  to  find  there  a 
new  country  with  new  faith  ancl  customs,  with 
what  pleasure  does  he  abandon  himself  to  the 
caresses  of  Obrazetz  —  though  they,  he  knows, 
belong  not  to  him !  With  what  attention  he  list- 
ens to  the  traveller':?  tale!  No  childish  allure- 
ment, no  gift  or  play,  so  fascinating  at  his  age, 
could  tear  him  i'rom  the  society  of  his  elders. 
Already,  to  a  degree  far  beyond  his  years,  did  he 
sympathize  with  all  that  is  good,  great,  and  glo- 
rious ;  like  a  young  sif  ed  at  the  trumpet-note,  he 
seems  ready  to  dash  into  the  strife  against  injus- 
tice and  violence.  How  warm  is  this  domestic 
picture !  With  what  a  chiaroscuro  of  household 
happiness,  of  quiet,  innocent  habits,  is  it  illumi- 
nated!  It  is  like  some  patriarchal  family  light- 
ed up  by  the  lamp  burning  before  the  image  of 
the  heavenly  babe. 

We  have  said  that  all  was  attention;  but  we 
must  explain  how  the  following  prelude  intro- 
duced the  actual  story  : — 

When  his  hearers  were  all  seated,  Aphanasii 
Nikitin  asked  the  daughter  of  Obrazetz  whether 
she  remembered  what  he  had  formerly  told  her. 

"God  keep  me  from  forgetting!"  cried  Anas- 
tasia — "  Thou  recountest  so  well,  grandfather, 
that  all  seemed  real  before  my  eyes.  If  thou 
w'li,  I  will  repeat  it  again,  in  brief  Thou  de- 
partedst  from  thy  native  city,  Tver;  from  the 
golden  dome  of  our  Holy  Saviour,  protected  by 
him  —  from  the  Great  Prince  Mikh;iil  Borfsso- 
vitch,  and  from  the  Archbishop  Gennadius. 
Then  didst  thou  float  down  the  Volga,  and  re- 
ceivedst,  at  Kalii'izin,  the  benediction  of  the  Ab- 
bot Makilrii.  At  Nijiiii-N6vgorod  thou  await- 
cdst  the  Tartar  ambassador,  who  was  returning 
to  his  own  land  from  our  Great  Prince  Ivan  with 
falcons:  there  thou  wert  joined  by  certain  of  our 
Russes,  who  were  minded,  like  thee,  to  go  tbrth 
into  distant  lands,  and  with  them  thou  descend- 
est  the  rest  of  the  Volga.  On  a  certain  river  ye 
were  fallen  upon  by  Tartars;  and  between  you 
and  them  arose  a  bloody  skirmish ;  and  many  of 
your  company  laid  their  heads  in  the  dust.  Here 
they  gashed  thee,  poor  man,  on  the  forehead  and 
eye !  It  is  not  in  vain  that  I  love  not  the.se  Tar- 
tars, even  as  though  my  heart  boded  ill  from 
them  even  to  myself." 

"  To  mc  there  is  no  nation  more  foul  than  the 
Almaynes!"  burst  in  the  boyarin,  who  never 
miseed  an  opportunity  of  expressing  his  haired 
to  them. 

Anastasia  continued — "The  sea  of  Derb^nd, 
thou  saidst,  grandfather,  is  bottomless.  When 
the  mermaids  are  sporting  in  it,  and  combing 
the  waves  with  their  silver  combs,  you  fly  over 
it  like  a  whitc-wing«d  swan;  but  when  they  lie 


at  the  bottom  warily,  and  take  hold  of  the  ship, 
then  stand  you  still  in  one  place,  as  though  you 
were  chained  there.  Neither  dost  breeze  blow 
nor  wave  wash.  By  day  the  heaven  blazeth 
above  thee,  and  the  sea  beneath  thee;  by  night 
the  Lord  stringeth  the  sky  with  stars,  like  golden 
coins,  and  the  mermaids  strew  the  waters  with 
like  stars;  but  when  they  are  angered  they  begin 
to  rock  the  ship,  and  lift  it  up,  up,  up!  so  high, 
that  thou  thinkest  thou  canst  reach  the  stars,  and 
then  plunge  it  to  the  bottom,  and  dash  it  to  chips 
against  a  rock,  unless  ye  hasten  to  repeat,  '  Lord, 
have  mercy  upon  us !'  At  the  mere  thought,  my 
heart  sinketh  within  me:  yet  should  I  love  to 
glide  over  that  sea,  like  a  grey  duck  or  a  snow- 
white  swan." 

"Ah!  thou  art  my  sweet-voiced  swallow,  my 
fluttering  bird!"  interrupted  the  traveller;  "I 
could  almost  think  thou  hadst  flown  with  me 
over  the  sea.  'Tis  true,  much  woe  and  sorrow 
have  I  borne;  I,  a  sinful  servant  of  God.  'Tis 
well  said  in  the  adage,  Desire  is  stronger  than 
force.  I  was  no  bigger  than  Andrei  A  ristotle,  ere 
I  had  travelled  all  over  the  principality  of  Tver. 
There,  as  soon  as  summer  came,  I  went  with 
the  pilgrims  wherever  they  wandered,  or  joined 
a  train  of  waggons  with  merchandise;  when  I 
grew  up,  there  was  no  end  to  my  projects:  to  go 
far,  far  away,  to  the  borders  of  the  world — to  be- 
hold, with  my  own  eyes,  all  that  is  done  on  God's 
earth:  what  beasts,  birds,  men,  live  in  different 
countries — all  this  I  longed  to  behold;  even  as 
if— :-God  forgive  me  ! — some  spirit  possessed  me, 
and  commanded  me  to  wander;  and  even  now — 
now  that  I  am  peacefully  sitting  in  holy  Russia, 
in  the  white  stone  palace — safe  and  warm,  on 
cushions  of  cloth,  with  a  boyarin,  a  giver  of 
bread  and  salt,  (hospitable,)  and  drinking  his 
sweet  mead — sh.iU  I  confess  it,  my  gracious  pa- 
trons 1 — even  now  my  heart  yearns  to  wander 
far  away,  o'er  thrice  nine  lands,  and  thrice  ten 
distant  kingdoms.  I  have  been  to  the  rising  of 
the  sun,  and  now  I  am  pining  to  behold  his  set- 
ting: sickness  hath  prevented  me But  let 

us  return  to  my  poor  wanderings  beyond  three 
seas  —  the  blue,  olloperv6diger,  and  the  first 
sea."  .... 

The  impatient  Anastasia  interrupted  his  reci- 
tal. "  We  remember,  grandfather,  we  remem- 
ber thou  hast  suffered  much  woe  and  sorrow: 
those  of  thy  company  who  had  any  thing  to  do 
in  Russia,  returned  to  Russia;  but  he  that  had 
nothing  to  draw  him  home,  went  whither  his 
eyes  led  him.  Thou  wentest  to  Bak6u,  where 
there  blazeth  out  of  the  ground  an  inextinguish- 
able fire — Lord,  Lord,  how  wonderfully  i.s  thy 
world  made!  And  then  thou  passedst  Easter- 
day  at  Gourmfiuz,  where  the  sun  scorchelh  a 
man  like  boiling  oil :  at  last  thou  didst  arrive  in 
the  chief  city  of  the  great  Sultan  of  the  Indies: 
in  that  land  there  be  apes,  with  the  hands  and 
feet  and  wit  of  man;  only  ihey  speak  not  as  we 
do:  these  apes  live  in  the  forest,  and  ihey  have 
an  ape  prince.  If  any  man  oflend  them,  they 
complain  to  their  prince:  they  fall  upon  a  town, 
pull  down  the  houses,  and  kill  the  people.  There 
is  also  in  that  land  the  bird /wurloiick ;  it  flieth 
at  night,  and  crieth  gouk,  gouk,  and  when  it 
perchelh  on  a  house,  there  a  man  will  die.  If 
any  man  try  to  kill  the  bird,  fire  cometh  out  of 
its  mouth." 

On  a  sudden,  at  these  words,  was  heard  touk, 
touk,  as  if  a  bird  was  tapping  with  its  beak,  and 
then  the  croak  of  a  raven."  The  girl  stopped 
short  in  her  tale  j  all  except  Andridusha  looked 


THE    HERETIC. 


35 


at  each  other  and  crossed  themselves,  ejacula- 
ting— "  The  strength  of  the  cross  be  with  us  !  O 
Lord,  save  us  from  evil !" 

The  gay  face  of  the  boy,  and  his  reputation 
fbr  tricks,  soon  dissipated  their  fear:  when  they 
recovered  themselves,  Aphanasii  Nikitin,  cough- 
ing, took  up  the  tale  where  the  boyarin's  daugh- 
ter had  left  off.  "  The  land  of  Hindostan  is  right 
populous  and  right  glorious,"  he  began  .... 

"  Thou  hast  again  wandered  from  the  point  of 
how  they  make  war  in  the  Indies,"  interrupted 
the  voev6da,  desirous  that  a  relation  of  military 
affairs  should  lead  his  mind  away  from  the 
gloomy  impression  produced  by  the  cry  of  the 
raven. 

"  In  a  moment,  my  good  lord,  I  will  bring  ray 
tale  to  that.  Now,  the  first  sea,  the  sea  of  Der- 
bend" .... 

"The  Caspian  ocean,  olloperv6diger,"  broke 
in  Andri6usha,  laughing.  "We  knew  all  that, 
grandfather,  long  ago." 

The  voev6da  shook  his  finger  at  the  boy. 
Anastasia  reminded  the  traveller  where  he  had 
left  off,  and  he  continued  as  follows: 

"The  Soldan  is  carried  in  a  golden  litter: 
above  it  is  a  velvet  canopy  with  a  golden  top, 
and  over  all  blazeth  a  ruby  as  large  as  a  hen's 
egg.  Before  the  Soldan  are  led  about  twenty 
horses  harnessed  to  golden  sledges.  Behind 
him,  three  hundred  men  on  horseback,  five  hun- 
dred on  foot,  and  trumpeters,  and  players  on  the 
dulcimer,  harpers  and  fifers,  ten  of  each.  But 
when  he  rideth  out  for  pleasure  with  his  mother 
and  his  wife,  he  hath  with  him  ten  thousand 
horsemen  and  fifty  thousand  footmen,  three  hun- 
dred elephants,  caparisoned  in  gilded  trappings, 
with  castles  fixed  thereon ;  and  in  each  castle 
six  raen-at-arms,  with  cannon  and  arquebuses. 
On  the  great  elephants  ride  twelve  men,  and  on 
each  are  two  standards.  To  their  tusks  are  tied 
great  swords,  a  quintal  in  weight,  and  to  their 
trunks  great  iron  clubs.  Between  the  ears  of 
the  elephant  sitteth  a  man-at-arms  with  an  iron 
crook  to  guide  the  elephant  withal.  Before  him 
go  trumpeters  and  dancers  by  the  hundred;  and 
three  hundred  common  horses,  harnessed  to  gold- 
en sledges.  Behind  these  are  a  hundred  apes 
and  a  hundred  concubines.  The  Soldan  him- 
self is  habited  in  a  robe  all  covered  with  rubies, 
a  turban  with  a  great  diamond  thereon ;  in  the 
sunshine  it  dazzleth  the  eyeS,  even  as  the  light- 
ning. He  weareth  a  quiver  adorned  with  ja- 
cinths, and  three  swords  all  damasked  with  gold. 
His  saddle  is  of  gold,  and  his  stirrups  of  gold — 
all  is  gold.  Behind  him  goeth  a  royal  elephant, 
all  trapped  in  brocade,  and  bearing  'in  his  mouth 
an  iron  chain,  to  beat  down  horses  and  men  who 
approach  too  near  the  Soldan.  In  the  Soldan's 
palace  there  be  seven  gates,  and  at  each  gate 
stand  a  hundred  guards,  and  a  hundred  kafir 
scribes;  whosoever  goeth  in  or  goeth  out,  they 
write  him  down.  And  his  palace  is  right  won- 
derful, being  all  carved  work  and  gold,  and  sculp- 
tured even  to  the  top,  wonderful  to  be  seen. 
Their  Bout-khans  fTemples  of  Buddh)  are  with- 
out doors,  and  look  towards  the  east ;  the  Bout 
is  carved  in  black  stone,  right  great,  having  a 
tail  spreading  over  him.  He  holdeth  up  "his 
right  hand,  stretching  it  forth  like  OusUnian 
(Justinian,)  the  Tsar  of  Tsargrad  (Emperor  of 
Constantinople:)  in  his  left  hand  he  beareth  a 
spear,  and  there  is  no  clothing  on  his  body;  his 
visage  and  back  are  like  those  of  an  ape.  Be- 
fore the  Bout  standeth  a  bull,  very  huge,  carved 
of  black  stone,  and  ail  gilded;  "his  horns  are 


bound  with  brass;  around  his  neck  hang  three 
hundred  little  bells,  and  the  hoofs  thereof  are 
shod  with  brass.  They  kiss  his  hoof,  and  scat- 
ter flowers  over  him.  Within  the  Bout-khaci 
they  ride  on  bulls.  The  Indians  call  the  bull  fa- 
ther, and  the  cow  mother.  Their  «/w7rtrt;:r  (pros- 
trations and  prayers)  are  made  toward  theLast: 
they  lilt  up  both  their  hands,  and  place  them  on 
the  crown  of  their  head,  then  they  bow  to  the 
earth,  and  prostrate  themselves  on  the  ground. 
This  is  their  worship.  The  Indians  eat  not  any 
manner  of  flesh;  neither  oxen,  nor  sheep,  nor 
fish,  nor  swine.  AVhen  they  eat  any  thing,' they 
hide  themselves  from  heretics,  lest  any  one 
should  look  into  their  drinking-vessel  or  their 
food;  and,  if  a  heretic  looketh  at  any  thing,  they 
will  not  use  it  for  food.  When  they  eat,  they 
cover  themselves  with  a  cloth,  lest  they  be  seen 
of  any  man.  When  they  sit  down  to  meat,  they 
wash  their  hands  and  feet,  and  rinse  their 
mouths;  and,  if  any  man  die  among  them,  they 
burn  him,  and  sprinkle  his  ashes  on  the  wa- 
ter" .... 

Long,  long  tales  told  the  one-eyed  traveller 
about  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Hindoos, 
and  at  last  he  came  to  the  manner  of  making 
war  in  the  Indies.  Then  was  heard  suddenly 
the  sound  of  the  iron  ring  which  announced  the 
arrival  of  a  stranger,  breaking  the  thread  of  the 
story.  This  was  followed  by  the  clatter  of  a 
horse's  hoofs,  and  immediately  after  by  the  bus- 
tle of  domestics  in  the  court-yard  and  the  hall. 
Khabar-Simskoi  rushed  into  the  armory,  and  was 
about  to  speak,  but  was  interrupted  by  his  fa- 
ther— "  Art  thou  preparing  to  turn  heretic,  Ivan, 
that  thou  comest  into  a  room  without  crossing 
thy  brow,  or  saluting  the  good  people  !  Would 
a  bow  make  thy  head  fall  off?" 

The  son  of  Obrazatz  blushed,  and  hastened  to 
make  three  signs  of  the  cross  before  the  image, 
and  a  bow  to  the  traveller  and  Andrei;  then, 
standing  in  a  respectful  attitude,  he  said — "The 
matter  calleth  for  haste  ....  Here  is  the  deacoa 
Borodatii  from  Ivan  Vassilievitch." 

"  Since  when  hath  hot-brain  begun  to  fear  the 
Tsar's  deacons  1  Hast  thou  been  falling  .into 
some  scrape  1" 

"  If  I  had,  I  would  not  bend  for  mercy  even  to 
the  Great  Prince." 

"With  such  thoughts  as  these,  'twill  not  be 
long  ere  thou  fallest  under  the  axe." 

"Then  would  I  bow  my  head:  'twould  only 
be  to  my  mother,  the  damp  earth:  but  now  evil 
hath  fallen,  not  on  me,  but  on  our  house.  The 
deacon  is  come  with  an  order  from  our  lord,  and 
hath  told  me"  .... 

The  boyiirin  did  not  allow  his  son  to  finish ; 
"Let  him  tell  me  himself.  .  .  .  'tis  clear,  'Long 
beard,  short  wit.'  Order  the  slaves  to  receive 
the  messenger  of  our  lord,  and  go  thyself  to  meet 
him  with  honour."  While  the  father  and  son 
were  talking,  Anastasia,  her  godson,  and  the 
tale-teller,  had  disappeared  from  the  armoury. 
The  boyarin,  having  put  on  a  better  dress  than 
that  in  which  he  was,  returned  to  receive  the 
deacon.  The  latter  did  not  keep  him  waiting 
long.  First  loomed  into  sight  the  gigantic  beard, 
and  then  the  man  humming-bird,  introduced  by 
Khabiir  himself  with  ceremonious  respect. 

"  Our  lord  Great  Prince,  ruler  of  All  Russia, 
Ivan  Vassilievitch,"  said,  or  to  speak  more  prop- 
erly, sang,  through  the  nose,  our  little  deacon — 
"hath  dispatched  from  his  august  presence  me, 
his  unworthy  slave,  to  announce  to  thee,  boya- 
rin, that  there  comelh  hither  from  Almayne  the 


36 


THE    HERETIC. 


leech  Antonj-— very  skilful  in  llie  cure  of  all  dis- 
eab«s:  he  is  now  but  three  days'  journey  from 
Moscow;  and  therefore  our  mighty  lord  hath 
vouchsafed  that  this  leech,  in  case  of  any  evil 
hap  ....  from  which  may  God  ....  may  the  an- 
gels and  archangels  fan  from  him  with  their 
wings,  even  as ... .  whereupon the  which"  . . . 

The  orator  was  confused,  and  lost  the  thread 
of  his  speech;  but  after  a  moment's  reflection,  he 
continued,  in  a  firm  voice — "  Our  great  lord  had 
vouchsafed  that  this  Almayne  leech,  Antony, 
should  remain  near  his  high  person;  and  there- 
fore he  hath  granted  to  thee,  boyarin,  of  his 
grace,  to  receive  the  Almayne  into  thy  palace  as 
an  inmate,  and  to  choose  the  best  chamber  and 
hall  therein"  .  .  . 

You  ought  to  have  seen  the  expression  of  the 
boyiirin's  face  on  hearing  this  command.  He 
turned  pale,  his  lips  quivered.  A  German — a 
foul  German!  a  heretic  !  aLatiner!*  one  of  his 
son's  murderers!  to  dwell  under  his  roof— to 
profane  the  purity  of  his  house!  to  shame  his 
old  age  !  .  .  .  but  what  was  lo  be  done  1  He 
viust  receive  the  abhorred  inmate,  even  with 
bread  and  salt — with  compelled  honour.  Such 
was  the  Great  Prince's  will.  Obrazelz,  had  he 
even  been  ignorant  that  Ivan  Vassflievilch  loved 
10  bend  whatever  resisted  him,  and  had  never 
found  a  spirit  so  iron  as  not  to  yield  and  fashion 
itself  at  his  pleasure,  even  then  he  would  not 
have  dared  to  disobey.  The  name  of  the  sov- 
ereign, .second  only  to  that  of  God,  was  respected 
by  him  as  in  the  olden  times,  according  to  the 
precepts  of  his  forefathers. 

"  I,  and  all  of  mine,  are  God's  and  the  Tsar's," 
replied  the  boyarin,  restraining  his  feeling: 
"choose  in  my  poor  house  whatever  chambers 
please  ye." 

"Only  not  my  sister's,"  cried  Khabar;  "the 
man  that  looketh  within  it  shall  not  live." 

"  Peace  !"  sternly  exclaimed  the  boyarin  : 
" '  the  egg  leacheth  not  the  fowl.'  "  Then,  turn- 
ing to  the  deacon,  he  added,  "fulfill  the  order  of 
our  good  lord." 

The  selection  was  soon  made — the  choice  had 
been  previously  arranged  by  Roussallca.  The 
quarter  towards  the  Kreml,  containing  the  hall, 
the  armoury,  and  a  corner  chamber  adjoining  it, 
■was  fixed  ujA)n  for  the  leech's  lodging.  After 
this,  custom  required  that  the  messenger  of  the 
sovereign  should  be  entertained.  The  cups  be- 
gan to  go  round;  but  this  time  the  sweetmeats 
tasted  like  physic  to  the  boyarin.  He  could  not 
drown  his  mortification.  The  tiny  deacon,  who 
assuredly  was  only  fit  to  drink  out  of  thimbles, 
fell  down,  like  a  drowned  fly,  at  the  tenth  gob- 
let 

HRest  there,  little  creature,  till  a  happy  awak- 
ing! 

The  voev6da  departed  to  his  own  apartments, 
(which  we  shall  henceforward  call  the  master's 
quarter,)  and  left  orders  with  his  son  lo  put  the 
deacon  to  bed,  and  conduct  him  home  with  hon- 
our when  he  should  be  sober  again.  Such  was 
then  the  law  of  hospitality,  even  if  the  guest  were 
worse  than  a  Tariart  in  the  eyes  of  his  enlcr- 
tainer.  But  the  hot-brain,  Khabar-- determined 
otherwise. 

"Wait!"  he  said,  looking  at  th«  dead-drunk 


*  Tti«  auricnl  Greek  Chnrch  lioUl  in  RTcat  abliorrcnrr 
the  LbIiiik,  or  Uoman  Calliolii-s— T.  B.  S. 

t  "  \Vi)rsc  llinii  aXnrtnr,"  n  proverbial  expression  of  ills- 
like,  easily  tramahlu  to  the  hatn'J  inspired  by  ihc  Tartar 
yoke.  Thus  tlie  Frenolinien  used  to  call  his  creditors, 
"ses  Anglais  "—T   B-  S. 


deacon :  "  Wait  awhile,  thou  ill-omened  raven  ! 
I  will  clip  thy  wings  so  that  thou  shall  never  fly 
lo  us  again  with  thine  evil  tidings !" 

And  Khabar  borrowed  from  his  sister's  nurse 
some  strong  swaddling-bands  and  a  sheet;  wrap- 
ped up  the  deacon,  and  swaddled  him  like  a 
baby.  His  gigantic  beard  was  carefully  combed, 
and  spread  out  in  all  its  proud  magnificence. 
When  this  was  done,  the  gentle,  courteous,  wiz- 
zened  phiz  of  the  little  man,  seemed  lo  be  lighted 
up  with  a  smile.  No,  that  smile  Khabar  would 
not  have  lost  for  the  most  precious  gifts — to  have 
enjoyed  it,  he  was  willing  to  lie  a  whole  month 
in  the  Blacl:  IzW,,  (prison.)  He  took  his  baby 
in  his  arms,  and  went  out  of  the  court-yard. 
Hardly  had  they  thrown  eyes  on  the  swaddled 
up  infant  with  the  tremendous  beard,  when  the 
passengers  before,  behind — merchants,  workmen 
— all  rushed  towards  him,  and  furmed  a  merrv 
tumultuous  procession.  Shouting,  giggling  ha 
ha's,  filled  the  air — 'twas  a  real  festival  of  Mo- 
mus!  The  mob  grew  and  grew,  and  at  last 
dammed  up  the  street;  those  only  who  were  tol- 
erably near  to  the  chief  acter  in  the  farce,  could' 
understand  what  they  saw:  but  the  further  ofl" 
any  man  was,  the  more  extravagant  were  the  re- 
ports that  reached  him.  One  cried — "A  child 
hath  been  born  with  a  beard  a  fathom  long!" 
another — "  A  bearded  star  hath  fallen  on  the 
earth!"  a  third— "They  have  found  a  monster, 
a  living  head  with  a  beard !"  It  would  requrie  a 
volume  to  relate  all  the  wonderful  things  they 
saiil  about  the  beard.  The  old  people  .sav/  in  it 
the  end  of  the  world,  and  the  coming  Antichrist ; 
the  young  were  delighted  to  laugh  at  something 
that  had  never  been  seen  before.  They  shoved 
each  other,  they  fought,  they  paid  money,  only 
to' have  a  look  at  the  beard.  Then  there  min- 
gled in  the  crowd  the  constables;  their  threats, 
their  sticks,  even  the  name  of  the  Great  Prince 
— all  was  useless.  The  huge  procession  went 
on,  further  and  further,  and  only  slopped  at  the 
deacon  Borodatii's  izba.  The  poor  little  man 
had  been  able  to  become  sober,  but  could  not 
come  quite  to  himself  on  account  of  the  noise 
and  rabblemenl  which  surrounded  him,  nor  form 
a  distinct  idea  of  what  was  being  done  with  him. 
For  some  time  his  servants  refused  lo  let  in  their 
master,  and  il  was  not  till  convinced  by  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  and  by  his  beard,  that  they 
admitted  him,  and  received  him  carefully  in  their 
arms. 

The  report  of  this  prank  soon  reached  even 
the  Great  Prince's  palace.  While  the  jest,  ima- 
gined by  the  audacious  Khabar,  was  going  for- 
ward, what  terror  filled  his  father's  house,  as 
soon  as  the  news  was  spread  that  a  German  was 
to  live  among  its  inmates  !  Still  further  was 
this  terror  increased,  by  stories  which  flowed  in 
on  all  sides  about  the  dreaded  stranger.  Some 
artirmed  that  he  belonged  lo  the  Jewish  heresy  : 
others,  that  he  was  brought  to  Russia  by  a  broth- 
er Hebrew.  Some  added,  that  he  was  a  sorcer- 
er, who  could  give  life  or  death  by  herbs  and 
dead  men's  bones;  that  he  could  predict  mens 
destiny  wilh  the  blood  of  infants  or  a  human 
skull  ;■  that  he  drew  people  lo  him  with  a  hook 
made  of  the  claws  of  the  Evil  One.  What  oth- 
er horrors  were  not  said  about  him?  And  his 
face!  that  could  not  be  human!  Certainly,  it 
must  be  a  horrid  one  with  a  beak,  with  owl's 
ears  !  What  a  person  lo  have  in  the  house !  .  .  . 
Evil  days  had  fallen  on  Obrazttz  and  his  family. 
He  seemed  himself  as  though  he  had  lost  his 
wife  and  son  a  second  lime.    Khabar  raged  and 


THE   HERETIC. 


37 


stormed  like  a  mountain  torrent.  Anastasia, 
hearing  the  horrible  stories — is  sometimes  trem- 
bling like  an  aspen-leaf,  and  then  weeps  like  a 
fountain.  She  dares  not  even  look  forth  out  of 
the  sliding  window  of  her  bower.  Why  did  Vas- 
silii  Feodorovitch  build  such  a  fine  house? 
Why  did  he  build  it  so  near  the  Great  Prince's 
palace  ?  'Tis  clear,  this  was  a  temptation  of 
the  Evil  One.  He  wanted,  forsooth,  to  boast  of 
a  nonsuch !  He  had  sinned  in  his  pride  .... 
What  would  become  of  him,  his  son  and  daugh- 
ter 1  Better  for  them  had  they  never  been  born  ! 
....  And  all  this  affliction  arose  from  the  bo- 
yarin  being  about  to  receive  a  German  in  his 
house ! 

They,  however,  thought  of  every  thing  that 
could  prevent  the  infidel  spirit  from  coming  in 
contact  with  the  orthodox  one.  Again  began 
the  holy-water  sprinkling;  again  the  incense- 
burning  to  such  a  degree,  that  one  could  hardly 
distinguish  objects  through  its  dim  grey  veil. 
Again  the  praying  with  prostration  to  the  earth, 
for  protection  against  the  incursions  of  the  fiend. 
Then  the  copper  cross  was  fixed  on  the  lodging 
of  the  expected  stranger,  with  as  much  noise  and 
howling  as  if  it  were  the  last  nail  in  a  good 
man's  coffin.  This  was  not  enough :  the  unclean 
mouth  of  a  heretic,  could  it,  should  it  touch  the 
vessels  out  of  which  ate  true  believers — good 
Christians,  who  had  been  baptized !  Was  it  a 
reasonable  thing  1  They  bought  new  pewter 
vessels,  ladles,  bottles,  drinking-cups — all  that 
was  necessary  for  the  German's  table.  These 
■were  never  to  be  carried  into  the  orthodox  quar- 
ter: and  at  his  departure  were  to  be  burned  all 
together.  They  divided  the  court-yard  with  a 
lofty  fence,  and  made  separate  doors  into  the 
heretic's  division.  To  wait  upon  the  leech  An- 
tony, they  selected  a  lad  under  twenty  ;  and  for 
their  choice  of  him,  in  particular,  there  was  an 
important  reason.  He  was  without  kith  or  kin 
— an  orphan. 

This  circumstance  would  rather  have  induced 
our  ancestors  to  take  care  of  him.  No,  this  was 
not  the  reason  why  they  chose  him  as  the  vic- 
tim— as  if  to  be  devoured  by  the  "  Serpent  of  the 
Mountains"*  he  was  "half-christened;"  (he 
had  never  been  known  to  possess  any  other 
name.)  At  the  moment  of  his  baptism  a  terri- 
ble storm  had  arisen ;  and  the  holy  mystery  had 
never  been  completed.  This  had  been  repeated 
to  him  from  his  infancy.  What  religion  he  pro- 
fessed he  knew  not  himself,  and  therefore  he 
never  went  to  church.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been 
purposely  prepared  to  be  the  heretic's  servant. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  ARRIVAL  AND  RECEPTION. 

"  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  roads  in  those  days,  (i. 
e.,  in  the  fifteenth  century,)  resembled  the  present  Chavs- 
see  from  Moscow  to  Petersburg." — Polevoi — The  Oath  at 
the  Tomb  of  our  Lord. 

On  the  Smolensk  road,  about  seven  versts 
from  Moscow,  several  sledges  were  ploughing 
their  way  through  the  snow-wreaths.  These 
vehicles  were  of  great — nay,  extreme  length, 
with  hoods  made  of  hoops  covered  with  canvass, 
similar  to  those  carriages  which  the  Jews  still 
employ  in  their  journeys  from  Poland  into  Rus- 
sia.   The  horses  were  tall,  not  of  R  ussian  blood, 


*  A  terrible  dragon  or  serpent,  in  the  Russian  fairy  tales, 
whicli  keeps  watch  over  the  "  Living  Water"— T-  B.  S. 


and  appeared  still  taller  from  the  huge  collars, 
decorated  with  crescents,  stars,  and  balls  of  cop- 
per, with  which  they  were  equipped.  Thesefor- 
naments  gave  notice  of  their  approach  by  the 
tinkling  sound  of  the  metal.  On  the  front  seats 
of  the  sledges  sate  the  drivers — for  the  most  part 
Jews.  It  seems,  as  I  have  already  said,  that  at 
this  epoch  there  was  no  gainful  employment 
which  the  sons  of  Judah  did  not  adopt.  They 
wielded,  with  a  master's  hand,  the  whip  or  the 
caduceus;  they  laboured,  with  equal  dexterity, 
with  tongue  or  brain :  the  sword  alone  was  re- 
fused them.  To  Russia,  in  particular,  notwith- 
standing the  hatred  and  detestation  with  which 
they  were  regarded — to  Pskofl^,  N6vgorod,  and 
Moscow,  thronged  Hebrews,  as  cloth  merchants, 
izcoztchiks,  (drivers  of  hired  carriages,)  inter- 
preters, and  agents.  If  they  succeeded,  they  re- 
turned home  from  Russia  loaded  with  rich  sa- 
bles: If  they  failed — they  left  their  heads  here. 

In  the  van  of  the  procession,  from  between  a 
ragged  foxskin  cap  and  a  greasy  sheepsin  gown 
there  projected,  like  a  vane,  a  sharp-pointed, 
beard,  flutterfng  in  the  wind,  and  covered  with 
the  downy  whiteness  of  frost.  Eyes,  grey  as 
those  of  the  owl,  gleaming  from  below  brows 
powdered  with  rime,  seem  to  outrun  the  jaded 
horses,  and  peer  inquisitively  afar.  Arriving  at 
Poklonnaia  Gora,  the  Hebrew  jumped  hastily 
from  his  seat.  In  front  of  him  a  prospect  of 
some  dozen  versts  was  spread  out,  illuminated 
by  a  splendid  winter  day.  He  strained  his  eyes, 
then  stretched  them  again,  stopped  his  horses, 
went  up  to  the  hood  of  the  sledge,  and  knocked 
upon  it  with  his  whip;  saying,  in  a  voice  as  tri- 
umphant and  full  ot  delight  as  if  he  were  an- 
nouncing the  discovery  of  an  unhabited  island  ia 
a  shoreless  ocean  : — "  Kucke,  kucke,  geschwind, 
herr!  (look,  look,  make  haste,  sir!)  There  is 
Moscow"  .... 

=' Moscow  1"  ....  asked  some  one  from  un- 
der the  hood,  in  a  voice  of  equal  delight,  but 
tremulous;  and  immediately  was  thrust  out  a 
head  covered  with  a  fur  cap:  there  looked  out  a 
young  man's  face,  handsome  and  ruddy  with  the  * 
frost.  "  Moscow  V  he  repeated,  lowering  his 
voice,  "Where  is  itT'  .  .  .  . 

"  There,  on  the  hill  in  the  forest,"  replied  the 
Hebrew:  but  remarking  that  his  fellow-travel- 
ler's face  assumed  a  strong  expression  of  disap- 
pointment, he  added,  in  a  perplexed  tone — "  Vhy, 
you  are  hard  topleash,  master;  you  vished,  per- 
haps, for  Jerusalem  ....  Vhy  did  you  not  live 
in  de  time  of  Solomon  den  1  But,  perhaps,  yoa 
vanted  Kroleflz,  Lipetsk,  or  something  more !" 
"  Ay,  by  thy  description,  honest  Zakharia, 
something  like  them,"  replied  the  young  travel- 
ler ironically ;  and  then  he  began  to  gaze  intent- 
ly on  the  distance.  He  was  still  looking  for 
Moscow,  the  capital  of  the  Great  Prince,  with  its 
glittering  palaces,  its  splendid  temples  with  gild- 
ed cupolas,  gold-pointed  spires  piercing  the  heav- 
ens; and  he  saw  before  him,  scattered  along  the 
snow-covered  side  of  a  hill,  a  disorderly  crowd 
of  huts,  half  enclosed  in  a  broken  wall,  half 
stretching  out  beyond  it.  He  saw  all  this  embo- 
somed in  a  black  bristling  forest,  from  which 
here  and  there  peeped  out  the  low  stone  churches 
of  monasteries.  The  river,  which  added  in  sum- 
mer-time so  much  beauty  to  the  town,  was  now 
locked  up  in  ice,  and  could  hardly  be  distin- 
guished winding  along  its  snowy  banks.  It  is 
true,  Moscow  was  surrounded  by  numerous  vil- 
lages, outskirts,  and  suburbs  ;  separated  from  it 
sometimes  by  fields,  sometimes  by  woods,  and 


THE   HERETIC. 


here  and  there  connected  by  long  lines  of  houses. 
It  is  true,  that  had  all  these  outskirts,  suburbs, 
and  villages  been  united  by  the  imagination  of 
the  spectator  into  one  whole,  the  city  might  well 
have  excited  his  astonishment  by  its  enormous 
size,  as  the  future  metropolis  of  Russia.  But  the 
first  impression  was  made;  and  to  the  eyes  of 
our  travellers,  Moscow  was  confined  to  that  lim- 
ited space  which,  to  the  present  day,  though  in 
the  midst  of  the  town,  retains  the  name  of  the 
citij.  Perhaps  at  this  moment  Antony  was  think- 
ing of  the  odorous  atmosphere  of  Italy,  its  pal- 
aces and  temples,  beneath  the  vault  of  a  glowing 
heaven,  the  tall  jiyraiiiid-like  poplars,  and  the 
vine-tendrils  of  his  native  land — perhaps  he  was 
thinking  of  Fioraventi's  words:  " H>:  tluit  entcr- 
dh  thai  sate  never  shall  return" — He  was  think- 
ing of  iiis  mother's  tears — and  he  mournfully 
bent  down  his  head. 

From  this  reverie  he  was  aroused  by  voices 
shouting  around  him — "  Moscow  !  Moscow  ! 
fcJignor  Antonio,"  and  his  sledge  was  encircled 
by  five  or  six  men  of  various  ages  dressed  in 
winter  habits.  Schoolboys  returning  home  for 
the  holidays,  greet  not  with  greater  joy  the  spire 
of  their  native  village. 

"But  what  a  miserable  hole  of  a  town!"  said 
one  of  them. 

"An  encampment  of  savages!"  cried  another. 

"Look!  and  their  houses  are  buiJded  like 
tents,"  chimed  in  a  third:  "the  first  poor  begin- 
ning of  architecture." 

"  We  will  set  all  that  to  rights.  'Tis  not  for 
nothing  that  the}'  have  invited  us  hither.  We 
■will  build  palaces,  mansions,  temples.  We  will 
gird  the  town  with  a  noble  wall.  We  will  raise, 
fortifications;  we  will  fill  them  with  cannon. 
Oh !  in  a  dozen  years  they  shall  not  know  Mos- 
cow again"  .... 

"  But  what  is  our  Fioraventi  Aristotle  about'? 
for  we  see  nought  but  piles  of  brick  on  the  mount- 
ain and  below  it." 

"  Fie  is  making  ready  for  work"  ....  ex- 
claimed one  of  the  travellers,  sarcastically  twirl- 
ing his  mustache. 

"He  hath  been  thinking  about  it  ten  years; 
in  the  eleventh  he  will  make  up  his  mind"  .  .  . 

"  'Tis  because  he  worketh  for  eternity,  not  for 
to-day,"  interrupted  Antony  with  a  generous  an- 
ger. "  Which  of  you  helped  him  to  straighten 
the  Campanile  of  Cento?  Ye  stood  gaping  by 
■when  he  was  moving  Del  Tempio  la  Magione."* 
Grow  up  to  his  size  first,  and  then  measure  your- 
.selves  with  him.  But  now  ....  beware  .... 
Avith  one  glance  of  genius  he  will  crush  you." 

"I  love  Antonio  for  that,"  cried  one  of  the 
crowd,  a  man  of  middle  age,  who  had  till  now 
preserved  a  contemptuous  silence.  "  I  love  An- 
tonio !  He  is  a  true  paladin,  the  defender  of  jus- 
tice and  honour  ....  Comrade,  give  me  thy 
hand  !"  lie  added  with  feeling,  stretching  out  his 
own  to  Ehrenstein.  "  Tl)ou  hast  said  a  good  word 
for  one  who  is  a  countryman  of  mine,  and  a 
great  artist." 

Those  who  had  commenced  the  boasting  con- 
versation were  silent,  abashed  by  their  compan- 
ion's words.  Probably  they  dared  not  begin  an 
altercation,  out  of  respect  for  his  age  or  endow- 
ments; and  they  bore  Antony's  reproach  in  si- 
lence, because  they  Jnight  some  time  or  other 
need  his  assistance:  besides  this,  his  chivalrous 
soul,  they  knew,  would  submit  to  no  hard  lan- 
guage, lie  who  hail  given  him  his  hand  in  sign 
of  friendship  was  the  future  builder  of  the  Carved 

*  The  Campauile  of  Sta  Maria,  m  Uologna. 


Palace.*     The  other  travellers  were  masons, 
stone-cutters,  and  founders  in  metal. 

And  so  they  began  to  approach  Moscow. 

The  first  disagreeable  impression  of  disap- 

Cointed  expectation  being  past,  Antony  consoled 
imself  Was  it  for  lifeless  edifices  that  he  had 
come  to  a  distant  land?  Was  it  curiosity  that 
had  attracted  him  thither?  No!  It  was  love 
for  humanity,  for  science,  for  glory — it  was  this 
that  pointed  out  to  him  the  road  to  Muscovy:  a 
weak  man  implored  the  aid  of  a  strongerman — the 
strongerflew  at  his  call :  "  to  whom  much  is  given, 
of  him  much  will  be  required,"  said  Christ  him- 
self The  light  enjoyed  by  him,  it  was  his  duty 
to  share  with  others  as  long  as  he  owed  any 
thingjto  humanity.  It  might  be,  great  toils  await- 
ed him ;  but  without  toil  there  can  be  no  great 
achievement. 

His  imagination,  aroused  by  these  consolatory 
reflections,  presented  to  him  a  panorama  of  Mos- 
cow, arrayed  in  far  less  gloomy  colours.  He 
brought  thither  the  spring  with  all  its  enchanting 
life.  He  bade  the  river  flow  once  more  between 
its  banks.  He  lighted  up  the  outskirts  with  gar- 
dens, and  breathed  perfumes  over  them.  He 
sent  a  breeze  to  play  with  airy  fingers  on  the 
strings  of  the  dark  pine  forest,  and  drew  from  it 
wild  wondrous  harmonies.  He  peopled  the  whole 
with  piety,  innocence,  love,  and  patriarchal  sim- 
plicity; and  Moscow  appeared  before  him  reno- 
vated by  the,  poetry  of  heart  and  imagination. 

In  this  mood  of  mind  the  travellers  arrived  at 
the  village  of  Dorogomilova.  The  ragged  boys 
who  were  playing  with  snowballs  in  the  streets, 
greeted  them  with  various  shouts  and  cries. 
They  yelled  out:  "Jews!  Dogs!  They  cruci- 
fied Christ." — Others :  "  Tatare  boyare,  boyare 
Tatare  !"t 

"  What  cry  these  boys?"  enquired  Antony  of 
his  driver,  who  understood  the  Russian  lan- 
guage. 

"Vhat  cry  dey  ?"  replied  the  Jew:  "in  de 
Sherman  tongue  dat  is  —  'hail,  dear  shlran- 
gers !' " 

And  immediately  upon  this  the  boys  saluted 
the  dear  strangers' with  a  volley  of  snowballs. 
Then  began  to  stream  out  of  the  houses,  clotted, 
tangled  beards  of  various  colours,  sheepskin 
caps,  lapti,\  sheepskin  coats  all  covered  with 
patches,  horned  headgears,  and  faces,  the  ex- 
pression of  which  was  far  from  favourable  to  the 
travellers.  It  is  true,  now  and  then  glanced  out 
a  hazel  eye  from  under  the  dark  brow  of  a  pret- 
ty girl,  able  to  lead  a  saint  into  temptation — a 
smile  on  cherry  lips,  parted  to  show  a  row  of 
pearly  teeth;  there  appeared,  too,  tall  stalwart 
young  men,  such  as  Napoleon  would  have  been 
enraptured  to  enrol  in  his  legion  :  but  even 
among  these,  hatred  of  foreigners  showed  itself 
in  looks  and  insulting  words.  It  was  not  to  see 
the  travellers,  however,  that  they  came  throng- 
ing out  of  their  houses :  no,  they  were  stream- 
ing towards  Moscow,  as  if  to  see  some  specta- 
cle for  which  they  feared  to  be  too  late.  "  Make 
haste,  accursed  heretics!"  they  cried  to  the  stran- 
gers ;  "  at  last  the  rulers  have  had  the  sense  to 
roast  ye  ....  make  haste,  and  there  will  be 
room  for  vou  too!" 

The  Hebrew  augured  ill  from  these  threats: 


*  Aloviz. — Note  of  the  Author. 

t  Kvcn  in  th«  pre'sciit  day,  in  the  villnjres  of  the  province 
of  Tver,  the  trnvellor  is  often  greeted— ii  rnlio,  prolmbly,  of 
the  fiiriiiPf  sovpreigns  of  the  country,  the  Tnrlars,— iVo<e  of 
the  Author. 

t  Shoes  of  plaited  birch-bark,  still  worn  by  the  peasant*. 
— T.  B.  S. 


THE  HERETIC. 


39 


knowing,  however,  that  to  exhibit  fear  would  be 
to  expose  the  whole  party  to  imminent  danger, 
he  answered  in  a  steady  voice  — "Evil  may 
come  to  others,  but  good  will  be  to  us;  we  are 
carrying  church-builders- to  the  Great  Prince." 

'"Tis  rarely  done  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch,  our 
lord:  he  perillelh  his  soul  by  consorting  with 
Jews  and  heretics  !"  cried  one  of  the  crowd. 

"He  pulleth  down  the  church  of  the  Most 
Holy  Mother  of  God,  and  in  the  place  thereof 
he  buildeth  palaces  and  houses  for  his  boyarins, 
and  for  his  dog-whippers  ....  and  maketh  gar- 
dens," added  another.  "  'Tis  a  curse  on  the 
country,  and  nothing  else." 

"Ay,  and  a  holy  place,  where  stood  the  house 
of  the  Lord,  is  now  not  even  fenced  in;  and  the 
dogs — God  keep  us  1 — can  run  on  it." 
,  "  That  is  the  cause  of  the  fires  in  Moscow." 

And  the  terrible  apparitions  in  the  heav- 
ens." 

Such  was  the  language  of  the  Russian  people 
at  this  epoch,  discontented  with  innovations  and 
contact  with  foreigners.  But  they  spoke  thus 
when  they  knew  that  their  speech  would  not 
reach  the  Great  Prince,  who  loved  not  to  be 
crossed,  or  to  have  his  doings  found  fault  with. 
They  murmured  behind  his  back;  but  in  Mos- 
cow itself  the  boyarins  and  people  never  dared 
to  give  utterance  to  their  dissatisfaction.  Anto- 
ny, who  did  not  understand  the  speech  of  the  in- 
habitants of  these  suburbs,  could  only  guess,  by 
the  malignity  expressed  in  their  faces,  by  the  fe- 
rocious glances  cast  at  the  strangers,  that  here, 
at  least,  dwelt  none  of  the  mild  children  of  the 
patriarchal  age. 

The  road  led  through  the  forest  which  girded 
the  city.  Wooden  crosses  in  considerable  num- 
bers, sometimes  by  the  roadside,  sometimes  in 
the  recesses  of  the  wood,  awakened  in  the  trav- 
ellers thoughts  of  Russian  piety :  thoughts  which 
would  have  given  place  to  a  feeling  of  terror, 
had  they  known  that  these  crosses  marked  the 
burial-place  of  unfortunate  persons  M'ho  had 
perished  by  knife  or  halter.  Not  only  in  remote 
■times,  but  even  down  to  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  the  forests  surrounding  Moscow  con- 
cealed bands  of  robbers,  and  murders  were  not 
un  frequent. 

The  bridge  over  the  river  Moskva,  built  on 
beams,  quivered  under  the  sledges  of  the  travel- 
lers, as  if  it  had  been  elastic.  Advancing  a  lit- 
tle further,  beyond  the  village  of  Tchortolino 
(now  the  Pretchlstenka),  they  entered  the  sub- 
urb of  Zaneglinnye;  but  here  nothing  indicated 
the  capital  of  Muscovy.  Miserable,  poor  huts 
made  of  boards  slightly  nailed  together,  here 
and  there  hovels  hastily  erected  on  the  ashes  of 
a  recent  conflagration,  churches  and  bell-towers 
in  great  numbers,  but  afl  of  wood  and  very  poor, 
"with  huge  sheds  round  them,  such  as  we  see 
even  now  in  the  villages  of  the  steppes.  The 
people,  too,  generally  dressed  in  naked  sheep- 
skin shovbas,  uncovered  with  cloth,*  the  multi- 
tudes of  the  halt,  the  lame,  beggars,  and  idiots, 
surrounding  the  churches,  and'in  the  cross-roads 
— all  this  was  no  very  exhilarating  prospect  to 
our  travellers. 

They  had  hardly  reached  the  K6u to hk off  ram- 
part, which  leads  from  the  Straytenskii  monas- 
tery, along  the  river  Moskva,  beyond  the  Great 
Street  {Velikam  Oiilitza),  when  they  beheld  a 


*  Shouba,  a  kind  of  lon^  fur-coat,  with  the  hair  inside  : 
the  sh6iiba  of  ttie  peasant  is  of  sheepskin,  and  without  any 
covering  of  cloth. — T.  B.  S. 


column  of  smoke  ascending  into  the  air,  grow- 
ing thicker  and  thicker  as  it  was  reinforced  with 
fresh  wreaths  of  vapour,  till  at  last  it  seemed  a 
gigantic  pillar,  decorated  with  the  fantastical  or- 
naments of  some  order  which  never  existed,  and 
appeared  to  support  the  sky.  The  artists,  for 
some  moments,  admired  this  strange  phenome- 
non, to  which  the  ardent  imagination  of  the 
south  gave  a  kind  of  creative  existence,  and  ia 
fancy  represented  it  on  paper.  Antony,  howev- 
er, regarded  it  with  a  kind  of  melancholy  pre- 
sentiment, though  agreeing  with  his  companions 
that  a  conflagration  could  not  be  the  cause  of 
this  phenomenon. 

At  their  arrival  in  the  Great  Street,  they  were 
met  by  a  number  of  officers  sent  by  the  Great 
Prince,  with  an  interpreter,  to  congratulate  the 
travellers  on  their  safe  arrival,  and  to  conduit 
them  to  the  houses  prepared  for  them ;  but,  in- 
stead of  taking  them  along  the  Great  Street,  the 
officers  commanded  the  drivers  to  descend  to 
the  river — alleging  the  impossibility  of  passing 
through  the  street,  which  they  said  was  choked 
up  with  the  ruins  of  houses  in  consequence  of 
the  late  fire. 

Before  they  got  down  to  the  river,  the  travel- 
lers had  observed  that  the  column  of  smoke 
arose  from  a  pile  lighted  on  the  stream  itself. 
Was  it  soiue  festival  —  a  relic  of  the  times  of 
idolatry  1  Was  it  a  dance  round  a  fire  1  Per- 
haps it  was  some  inconsolable  widow,  who  was 

about  to  burn  herself  in  the  Indian  fashion 

The  mob  is  shouting,  laughing,  clapping  its 
hands — is  is  clear  some  sport  is  preparing. 

Close  to  the  pile  itself  the  sledges  stopped; 
the  crowd  rendering  it  impossible  to  pass  fur- 
ther. A  strange  spectacle  awaited  the  new- 
comers ! 

The  blazing  pile  was  about  fourteen  feet  iu 
width.  On  the  other  side  of  the  fire  were  heard 
shouts  of  triumph  and  delight.  A  throng  of  peo- 
ple were  approaching  it,  dragging  along  some 
large  object.  What  could  it  be — a  belli  But 
as  soon  as  its  two-legged  team  stepped  aside, 
the  spectators  beheld  a  cage,  grated  with  thick 
iron  wire,  and  within  it  two  men.  One  was  a 
youth,  the  other  appeared  aged.  The  despair  in 
their  eyes — their  prayers — the  blazing  pile— the 
iron  cage— the  delight  of  the  mob  ....  O,  it 
was  doubtless  an  execution  that  was  about  to 
take  place!  The  cage  was  pushed  along  on. 
rollers — right  into  the  blazing  pile  !  The  flame, 
stifled  for  a  moment  by  the  heavy  weight,  belch- 
ed forth  volumes  of  smoke — the  bottom  of  the 
cage  began  to  writhe,  and  soon  crackled  in  the 
heat.  A  groan  was  heard.  The  hearts  of  the 
travellers  were  frozen  with  horror  ;  their  hair 
bristled  on  their  heads.  Antony  and  his  com- 
rades implored  the  officers  to  remove  them  from 
this  agonizing  scene  ;  they  were  answered,  that, 
as  an  example  to  others,  a  punishment  was  be- 
ing inflicted  on  villanous,  godless  traitors,  Lith- 
uanians, the  Prince  Ivan  Loukomskii  and  his 
interpreter  Matiphas,  who  had  attempted  to  poi- 
son the  Great  Prince,  the  Lord  of  All  Russia, 
Ivan  Vassilievitch.  Antony  began,  through  the 
interpreter,  to  urge  his  request  with  warmth. 
No  answer  was  returned. 

"  By  Almighty  God,"  cried  the  sufferers,  bow- 
ing to  the  people;  "by  our  God  anc  jnurs,  we 
swear — we  are  innocent !  O  Lord !  thou  seest 
that  we  are  guiltless;   and  thou  knowest  who 

have  accused  us  before  the  Great  Prince 

Mamon,  Roussalka — ye  shall  answer  in  the  oth- 
er world!  ....  Unhappy  strangers,  why  have 


40 


THE   HER'ETIC. 


ye  come  hither  1  Beware  ....  In  the  name 
of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and"  .... 

The  smoke  enwrapped  them  in  its  volumes, 
and  stifled  the  words  on  the  lips  of  the  wretched 
men. 

"  Ha,  ha !  they  bellow  !"  cried  the  spectators. 

The  bridge  over  the  river  Moskva,  in  sight  of 
which  this  horrid  scene  took  place,  was  creak- 
ing under  the  crowd.  The  balustrade  yielded 
and  swayed  beneath  the  pressure.  In  vain  did 
'.he  old  men  and  people  of  experience  warn  the 
Ibolhardy  spectators;  the  only  reply  was  the 
voice  of  Russian  fatalism  —  ''We  cannot  die 
twice,  and  once  we  must."  And  immediately 
after  this  the  balustrade  crashed  in  sunder,  and 
carried  with  it  dozens  of  people  on  the  ice  of  the 
Moskva.     Many  were  fatally  injured. 

By  this  time  the  fire  had  begun  to  burst  freely 
forth  from  under  the  cage,  and  many  branched 
tongues  of  flame  began  to  lick  its  sides.  A  fiery 
fountain  spouted  from  the  bottom.  Two  dark 
figures  could  be  distinguished  through  the  blaze. 
They  embraced  each  other  ....  fell  ....  and 
in  a  short  lime  nothing  remained  of  them  but 
ashes,  which  the  wind  bore  into  the  bystanders' 
eyes.  The  iron  cage  grew  redhot — along  its 
crimson  bars  ran  here  and  there  bright  sparks, 
which  snapped  like  fire-works. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    NEWSMONGER. 

"  Who  art  thou  ? 
— All  tciences,  all  arts,  this  fertile  brain  adorn,  sir ; 
An  universal  genius  I  think  that  I  was  bom,  sir. 
I'm  every  where  at  home  ;  par  tout,  sir,  I  have  been  ; 
My  tongue  can  plump  a  purse  that's  sometimes  rather  lean  ; 
"Thougih  times  be  often  hard,  I  scramble  as  I  can, 
Sometimes,  pcrchauce,  a  rogue,  sometimes  an  honest  man." 

Khmaylnitzkoi. 

"  He  is  come ;  he  is  come !"  resounded  through 
the  mansion  of  Obrazcf-5,  and  every  living  being 
in  it,  excepting  Khabar,  pale,  panting,  trembling, 
first  uttered  a  sigh  of  terror,  and  then  began  to 
bustle  about.  They  tried  to  move  —  their  leet 
tottered ;  they  tried  to  give  orders,  or  to  trans- 
mit them  to  one  another  —  their  lips  produced 
only  an  inarticulate  sound.  Recovering  them- 
selves at  length,  they  opened  the  gate  :  What ! 
not  yet  he — the  terrific  stranger !  It  was  the 
servants  of  the  Great  Prince,  with  bread  am/  sail 
from  Ivan  Vassi'lievitch.  They  carried  on  dishes 
pairs  of  fowls,  geese,  turkeys,  pork,  baked  meats, 
a  keg  of  foreign  wine,  and  —  it  is  impossible  to 
give  a  list  of  all  they  brought,  which  .seemed 
enough  to  feast  at  least  a  dozen.  They  also  led 
along  a  horse,  richly  caparisoned,  a  present  to 
the  leech.  At  the  h(?ad  of  this  procession  was 
the  boyarin  Main6n,  who  had  begged  permission 
to  conduct  it,  as  this  duty  would  give  him  an 
opportunity  of  oppressing  the  heart  of  Obrazetz 
by  his  hateful  presence.  "When  the  voev6da 
learned  the  arrival  of  his  detested  foe  under  his 
roof,  he  gave  orders  to  his  domestics  not  to  go 
to  meet  the  procession ;  his  son,  in  particular, 
he  had  strongly  forbidden  to  enter  into  any 
((uarrel  with  his  enemy ;  the  rather,  as  Khabar 
had  lately  been  excused,  under  his  father's  re- 
sponsibility, frutn  an  im|)risonment,  incurred  by 
his  pranks.  The  hissing  sound,  indicative  of 
the  arrival  of  a  sledge,  was  lieard  at  the  gate; 
the  procession  got  in  motion,  and  drew  up  in  the 
couit-yard  in  two  lines,  in  orilcr  to  receive  the 
stranger.     He  leaped  swiftly  from  the  sledge, 


I  thanked  Zacharias  for  driving  him,  and  offered, 
him  money,  but  the  Jew  refused  it,  only  sayin°': 
"  I  pray  thee  remember,  if  thou  hast  need  of  any- 
thing, I  am  ihy  servant  while  I  live." 

Curiosity  is  so  strong  in  human  nature,  that 
it  can  conquer  even  fear:  notwithstanding  the 
orders  of  the  boyarin,  all  his  servants  rushed  to 
obtain  a  glance  at  the  terrible  stranger;  one  at 
the  gate,  another  through  the  crevices  of  the 
wooden  fence,  another  over  it.  Khabar,  with, 
his  arms  haughtily  a-kimbo,  gazed  with  stern 
pride  from  the  other  gate.  Now  for  the  frightful 
face  with  mouse's  ears,  winking  owlish  eyes 
streaming  with  fiendish  fire  !  now  for  the  beak  J 
They  beheld  a  young  man,  tall,  graceful,  of  no- 
ble deportment,  overflowing  with  fresh  vigorous 
life.  In  his  blue  eyes  shone  the  light  of  good- 
ness and  benevolence  through  the  moisture 
called  up  by  the  recent  spectacle  of  the  execu- 
tion :  the  lips,  surmounted  by  a  slight,  soft 
mustache,  bore  a  good-humoured  smile — one  of 
those  smiles  that  it  is  impossible  to  feign,  and. 
which  can  only  find  their  source  in  a  heart 
never  troubled  by  impure  passions.  Health  and 
frost  had  united  to  tinge  the  cheeks  with  a  light 
rosy  glow ;  he  took  off"  his  cap,  and  his  fair  curls 
streamed  forth  over  his  broad  shoulders.  He 
addressed  Mam6n  in  a  few  words  of  such  Rus- 
sian as  he  knew,  and  in  his  voice  there  was 
something  so  charming,  that  even  the  evil  spirit 
which  wandered  through  the  boyiirin's  heart,, 
sank  down  to  its  abyss.  This,  then,  was  the 
horrible  stranger,  who  had  alarmed  Obrazetz 
and  his  household!  This,  then,  was  he— after 
all !  If  this  was  the  devil,  the  fiend  must  again 
have  put  on  his  original  heavenly  form.  All  the 
attendants,  as  they  looked  upon  him,  became 
firmly  convinced  that  he  had  bewitched  their 
eyes. 

"  Haste,  Nastia  !*  look  how  handsome  he 
is!"  cried  Andri6usha  to  the  voev6da's  daugh- 
ter, in  whose  room  lie  was,  looking  through  the 
sliding  window,  which  he  had  drawn  back. 
"  After  this,  believe  stupid  reports  !  My  father 
says  that  he  is  my  brother:  oh,  how  I  shall  love 
him  !     Look,  my  dear^" 

And  the  son  o"f  Aristotle,  affirming  and  swear- 
ing that  he  was  not  deceiving  his  godmother,, 
drew  her,  trembling  and  pale,  to  the  window. 
Making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  with  a  fluttering 
heart  she  ventured  to  look  out  —  she  could  not 
trust  her  eyes ;  again  she  looked  out ;  confusion  ! . 
a  kind  of  delighted  disappointment,  a  kind  of 
sweet  thrill  running  tiirough  her  blood,  never 
before  experienced,  fixed  her  for  some  moments 
to  the  spot :  but  when  Anastasia  recovered  her- 
self from  the.se  impressions,  she  felt  ashamed 
and  grieved  that  she  had  given  way  to  them. 
She  already  felt  a  kind  of  repentance.  The 
sorcerer  has  put  on  a  mask,  she  thought,  remem- 
bering her  father's  words  :  from  this  moment 
she  became  more  frequently  pensive. 

At  length  the  traveller  succeeded  in  disembar- 
rassing himself  of  the  ceremony  of  reception  ; . 
having  generously  rewarded  the  servants  of  the 
T.sar.  His  liberality  forbade  him  to  remain  in 
any  one's  debt,  even  though  his  circumstances 
frequently  opposed  the  dictates  of  his  heart.  He 
was  left  alone,  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  cham- 
ber. Here  he  offered  to  the  Creator  the  sacrifice 
of  a  reasonable  creature  ;   but  even  this  was 


*  xYd-t/in— the  diminulivo  of  Anostasiii  :  NAstonka,  th» 
same.  Russian  caressing  names  KcniTallf  end  in  sia,  sha, 
6ushn,  or6uBhka-as  VAsia,  (for  Ivan  ;)  Aiulriiiusha,  (An- 
drei;).  Varpholomtoushka,  (Bartholomew.)— T.  B.  S. 


THE    HERETIC. 


41 


turned  to  his  disadvantage.  They  gossiped  that 
he  was  imploring  the  Evil  Spirit  tp  release  him 
from  the  holy  influences  of  his  new  habitation. 

He  cast  a  glance  round  the  rooms ;  one  (the 
corner  one")  had  windows  towards  the  street  and 
the  wall  ol  the  Kreml.  Tlie  other,  formerly  the 
armory,  looked  into  the  court-yard.  His  new- 
abode  seemed  convenient  and  agreeable  enough. 

In  a  few  moments  some  one  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  announced  himself  as  Bartholomew, 
interpreter  to  the  great  Lord  and  Tsesar,  Ivaan 
Vassilievitch,  to  report  the  execution  of  a  com- 
mission he  had  received  from  Antony.  The 
doors  were  opened  to  him. 

There  entered  a  man  ol  forty,  or  rather  more ; 
as  in  Borodatii's  case  it  was  the  beard  that  had 
the  pre-eminence,  in  this  man  it  was  the  nose — 
a  wonder  of  a  nose  !  It  was  narrow  at  the 
bridge,  but  spread  out  towards  the  nostrils  like  a 
funnel,  and  was  speckled  all  over  with  purple 
pimples.  His  little  lips,  aifectedly  pinched  and 
protruded  forwards,  wore  the  expression  of  pre- 
paring to  play  on  the  flute ;  they  appeared,  under 
the  hair  of  the  chestnut  beard  and  mustache — 
They  appeared — the  deuse  take  it!  I  have  lost 
the  comparison ;  it  has  slipped  from  my  memory 
into  an  abyss  —  'tis  gone,  and  I  cannot  catch  it 
again.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  must  make 
a  new  one  for  yourselves.  The  interpreter's 
little  eyes  expressed  any  thing  but  indifference 
to  the  feminine  sex  ;  and,  but  for  the  forty 
years,  and  something  more,  for  the  frequent 
pranks  and  visits  to  the  cellar,  which  had  deco- 
rated his  forehead  with  divers  significant  hiero- 
glyphics, and  left  bald  patches  on  his  pate— but 
for  the  pimples  on  his  nose,  and  but  for  one  of 
his  legs',  which  loved  subordination,  and  always 
waited  till  the  other  stepped  out  —  but  for  all 
these  little  circumstances,  I  say,  you  would  have 
thought  Master  Interpreter  a  very  charming 
man.  At  least  he  considered  himself  as  such. 
This  confidence  in  his  own  personal  endow- 
ments he  used  to  support  by  tales  of  his  achieve- 
ments. At  Lipetsk,  he  said,  a  certain  maiden 
had  drowned  herself  for  love  of  him ;  and  then 
there  was  the  wife  of  the  master  of  a  printing- 
house — a  beauty  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word — 
■with  whom  he  was  on  the  point  of  running 
away,  like  the  bull  with  Europa.  They  were 
pursued  and  separated.  The  husbands  of  the 
whole  town  had  united  in  a  conspiracy,  and 
threatened  his  life :  in  consequence  of  this,  t»dded 
Bartholomew,  he  had  been  compelled  to  pass 
the  Rubicon,  and  to  fly  to  Moscow.  Here  he 
learned  the  Russian  language,  and  began  to 
perform  the  duties  of  translator  of  German  pa- 
pers, aud  interpreter  of  German  conferences. 

Throwing  open  the  skirts  of  a  lynx-skin  shou- 
ha,  Bartholomew  exhibited  his  robe  of  reddish- 
yellow  daaiask  with  gilded  buttons.  It  is  true 
his  leg  obstinately  persisted  in  its  trick  of  stum- 
bling, but  he  soon  conquered  it,  put  himself  into 
a  majestic  attitude,  and  informed  Antony  that 
Aristotle  was  not  a  home.  At  the  invitation  of 
his  host  he  seated  himself  on  a  bench.  As  a 
juggler  spins  IVom  his  mouth  hundreds  of  yards 
of  coloured  riband,  so  he  began  to  spin  out, 
with  no  interruption,  his  motley  tales. 

"  Make  use  of  me  entirely,"  he  said.  "  You 
have  so  enchanted  me,  in  a  moment,  as  I  may 
say,  that  I — I — now,  truly,  had  I  been  a  womaii, 
I  should  have  been  over  head  and  ears  in  love 
with  you.  I  am  sure  you  would  not  have  been 
cruel.  For — see  now,  prithee  —  there  is  a  kind 
of  indescribable  sympathy  between  us  —  is  it 
not  so  T' 


"  O,  exactly  so !"  replied  Antony,  smiling. 

"  In  consequence  of  this  feeling  —  use  mc  as 
you  will.  If  you  want  any  thing  of  the  Great 
Prince,  one  word — but  one  word.  O,  the  Great 
Prince  is  most  gracious  to  mel  Here,  for  in- 
stance, be  so  good  as  to  look  at  this  shouba — " 

"  I  sea." 

"And  what  a  sh6uba  it  is!  You  are  a 
foreigner  ;  3'ou  assuredly  do  not  know  the  price 
of  these  things.  This  is  lynx. —  lynx,  most 
honourable  sir  —  very  little  inferior  to  sable; 
and  sable  the  Roman  Caesar  himself  values  as  a 
most  precious  gift.  It  can  only  be  compared  to 
the  soft  glossy  locks  of  a  woman.  And  this 
silken  stuff  which  covers  it  is  soft,  warm,  elas- 
tic as  woman's  darling  little  knee.  And  theso 
buttons  !  Is  it  not  true  they  glitter  like  her 
bright  eyes  1  All  this  is  the  gift  of  the  Great 
Prince  for  my  poor  services.  What  a  great  man 
that  is  !  If  you  knew  what  a  master  he  is — how- 
many  new  ranks  he  has  created  I — ranks  that 
never  existed  before.  And  he  has  ranged  each., 
in  its  place.  I  will  tell  you,  (here  he  began  to  ■ 
count  on  his  fingers.)  First,  boyarin ;  second,, 
voevoda  ;  third,  okolnitchii  ;*  grand  dvoretzkoi 
(remark,  there  are  also  deputies,)  translator,  and 
so  forth  ;  treasurer,  seal-bearer,  deacon,  officer 
of  the  bed-chamber,  of  the  wardrobe,  falconer, 
equerry,  huntsman,  steward,  officer  of  the  tent, 
and  a  vast  number  of  other  ranks.  You  will 
certainly  obtain  one  of  the  first." 

"  You  do  me  honour  !  Not,  however.  I  hope, . 
that  of  officer  of  the  bed-chamber." 

"  And  what  pay  all  these  get  from  the  treasu- 
ry !  We  eat  our  bellyful,  drink  as  much  naead 
as  we  can,  amuse  ourselves  just  as  we  like;  we' 
are  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long;  a  noble  master!. 
'Tis  a  pity,  though,  that  he  should  stick  to  his 
wife  alone.  Ah,  what  a  garland  of  beauties  I 
would  have  culled  him  !  (He  applied  three  fin- 
gers to  his  lips,  with  a  smack,  as  if  they  tasted 
very  sweet.)  'Tis  true  I  came  to  Muscovy  be- 
cause I  expected  to  find  the  East  here  ....  a  real 
East !    You  understand  me  1" 

"  And  you  were  probably  mistaken  T'  inter- 
rupted Antony,  blushing  like  a  young  maiden. 
"  I  have  heard  that  they  shut  up  the  women  here,, 
and  that  there  are  no  conquests  for  a  man,  what- 
ever be  his  powers  of  fascination." 

"Oh  do  not  think  that!"  exclaimed  the  trans- 
lator with  a  conceited  smile.  "  Hem !  we  have 
had  opportunities  ....  But  one  must  be  discreet 
in  these  affairs.  The  customs  themselves  are 
not  so  rigid  as  they  say  abroad.  In  the  first 
place,  at  the  feasts,  the  hostess,  at  the  command 
of  her  husband,  always  regales  the  guests.  She 
is  obliged  to  kiss  them.  Then  glances  are  in- 
toxicating. Mead  strong,  husband  absent  in 
another  city  for  business,  war,  or  commerce  — 
not  only  a  Paris,  but  such  as  I,  simple  as  I  stand 
here,  raise  violent  flames  in  ladies'  hearts.  A 
woman,  you  know,  is  always  a  woman.  The 
secrecy  of  love  is  but  an  additional  charm  to 
her"  .... 

"  But  the  maidens  of  this  country — they  surely 
have  no  opportunity  of  meeting  men  1" 

"Not  openly;  but  they  can  always  find  means 
for  secret  interviews.  They  go  to  dance  the 
roundt  in  the  gardens ;  there  be  fences  in  the 
gardens  ;  in  the  fences  there  be  chinks,  through 
which  one  may  converse,  and  even  snatch  a  kiss. 


*  Okolnitchii,  the  second  rank  of  nobles  in  ancient  Rus- 
sia.—T.  B.  S. 

t  Khorovodui,  a  kind  of  game  (from  the  Greek  x6poi,\ 
consisting  of  dancing  in  a  ring,  and  singing. — T.  B.  S. 


42 


THE   HERETIC. 


A  speechless  converse  from  a  chamber-window 
—  a  good-natured  nurse  —  a  porter  devoted  to 
your  interest— a  quiet  house-dog — and  the  very 
wicket  itself  stills  its  creaking  as  if  to  aid  love. 
Among  us — that  is,  among  you  in  Germany — 
the  castles  are  stronger  than  the  bowers  in  this 
country,  and  the  guards  are  more  faith'ful  than 
the  servants  here ;  and  yet  even  there  Copid 
plays  his  tricks.  Trust  me,  most  honourable  sir, 
his  empire  is  ever  strongest  where  they  keep  the 
women  under  bolt  and  bar.  The  Russian  songs 
prove  this  belter  than  any  thing  else.  1  must  tell 
you  that  I  am  collecting  them,  and  have  already 
written  a  whole  volume  of  preface  to  them.  I 
must  confess,  by  the  way,  that  in  reading  it  over, 
I  was  astonished  how  I  could  write  so  finely; 
and  I  could  have  wept  delight  over  my  offspring. 
But  I  was  speaking  of  the  songs.  You  will 
chiefly  find  in  them — now,  bad  neighbours  who 
remark  the  lovers'  secret  interviews,  and  tell  the 
father  and  mother;  in  another  song,  the  wife 
wishes  10  (id  rid  cf  her  old  husband;  in  another, 
she  complains  of  infidelity ;  in  a  third,  she  leaves 
father  and  mother  for  some  young  scapegrace ; 
every  where  you  find  woman's  love  ready  for  all 
sacrifices — every  where  the  jollity  and  bravery 
of  man.     Do  you  require  living  examples  V 

"  O,  you  have  given  me  examples  enough  !" 

"Nay,  allow  me;  I  will  but  hint You 

see,  we  too  are  enlightened — we  know  a  secret 
or  so  ...  .  Yonder,  not  far  off",  lives  the  widow 
Selinova.*  You  see  the  next  house,  at  the  bend 
of  the  Konstantino-YeIon6ffskaia  street.  The 
little  widow  is  mad  with  love  for  the  son  of  vour 
liost." 

"What,  that  tall,  proud-looking  youth,  who 
was  standing  at  the  otiier  gate  of  my  entertainer's 
house?" 

"  Ye.s,  that  handsome  young  man — at  least,  I 
should  call  him  handsome,  if  his  height  did  not 
spoil  him." 

Antony  smiled ;  but  fearing  to  offend  his  com- 
panion, he  became  as  attentive  as  before.  The 
interpreter  continued — "  If  discretion  did  not 
command  me  to  lay  my  finger  on  my  lips,  I 
could  give  you  much  information  about  the 
pranks  of  this  place.  We  know  a  thing  or  two 
....  We  have  admission  to  the  boyarins' 
liouses:  we  see  their  wives  and  daughters:  but 
first  I  must  beg  you  to  remark,  that  before  you 
can  expect  favours  from  either  the  one  or  "the 
other,  you  must  go  over  to  their  religion." 

"  In  that  case  I  shall  never  enjoy  their  good- 
will," said  Ehrenstein.     "Flow  did  you"  .... 

"  I  confess  I  took  the  Greek  faith  here.  This 
is  an  indispensable  condition,  if  you  wish  the 
Russians  to  love  you.  If  you  do  not  give  way 
in  this  you  will  be  called  a  heretic,  a  Latiner,  a 
heathen,  though  yon  be  the  best  Christian  in  the 
world.  Thev  will  fly  from  you,  abhor  you,  just 
as  in  India  they  do  the  Pariahs.  Where  India 
is,  I  wish  I  may  die  if  I  can  inform  you  ;  but  the 
Russian  traveller,  Aph;'inasii  Nikftin,  hath  told 
me  all  about  it.  I  shall  have  the  honour  to  pre- 
sent him  to  you.  Tiiere,  you  must  know,  there 
are  a  class  of  people  called  Pariahs,  who  from 
generation  to  generation  are  despised,  insulted, 
and  persecuted  by  all,  so  that  it  is  a  pollution 
even  to  touch  them.  They  avoid  them  as  if  they 
were  lepers.  Now,  here  foreigners  are  just  the 
same.    Nothing  but  the  all-powerful  protection 

*  RimsJnn  surnmtios  am  dorlinod  an  snlwtiiiitiveii ;  hem-.o 
the  snrnc  family  namo,  when  hitriw  liy  ii  man,  has  a  mascu- 
tinp  ;  mill  !))•  a  wuman,  a  rnmiiiinr  t<Tniiimtion.  Thus, 
Scllnova,  the  wife  of  SeHnoff.— T.  B.  S. 


of  the  Great  Prince  preserves  them  from  danger. 
On  the  other  hand,  foreigners  who  adopt  our 
faith,  are  held  in  great  honour  and  aflTection  by 
the  Russians." 

Antony  was  about  to  interrupt  him,  by  asking 
more  detailed  information  respecting  the  condi- 
'  tion  of  foreigners  in  Russia ;  but  the  printer 
j  would  not  stop,  and  went  on  printing  his  gossip 
I  at  the  rate  of  a  steam-press—"  But  I  have  di- 
gressed, methinks,  from  my  subject:  let  us  re- 
turn to  the  pretty  women.  Thi^,  I  confess,  is 
ray  weak  point,  my  heel  of  Achilles.  I  was 
talking  of  the  widow  Selinova:  her  friend,  her 
lover— call  it  as  you  will— is  not  over  faithful  to 
her.  The  rogue  has  lately  made  acquaintance 
with  —  whom  do  you  think  1  ....  with  the 
Greek  girl  Haidee';  and  Haidee— who  is  she, 
think  ye"?  Neither  more  nor  less  that  the  mis- 
tress of  Andreas  Paloeologos,  the  Greek  Emperor 
and  despot  of  the  Morea — the  Great  Prince's 
brother-in-law.  You  see  into  whose  nest  the 
young  Russian  has  crept !  .  .  .  .  Here,  you 
may  think  a  man  must  often  feel  whether  his 
head  is  on  his  shoulders.  I  must  tell  you,  by 
the  way,  that  the  Russians  ever  like  to  wade  in 
the  deepest  waters.  We  Germans  are  still  cal- 
culating and  considering  how  to  leap  over  a 
ditch,  when  the  Russian  is  either  on  the  other 
side,  or  has  broken  his  neck.  Haidee,  as  I  was 
saying,  is  a  Greek;  but  I  did  not  tell  you  how- 
handsome  she  is.  Where  the  dense  are  such 
beauties  born?  (Bartholomew's  eyes  glistened 
and  danced  even  more  than  usual.)  You  would 
think — God  forgive  me! — that  the  devil  had  cast 
her  in  some  diabolical  mould  or  other,  and  in- 
fused in  her  black  eyes  some  of  his  own  infernal 
flames.  She  torments  your  very  soul,  and  fol- 
lows 3-ou  in  your  very  dreams.  Beautiful!  a 
wonder  of  beauty !  But  I  know  a  Muscovite 
girl  prettier  even  than  Haidee;  worth  ten  of  the 
Greek.  And  where  do  you  think  she  dwells? 
Here,  in  this  very  house-^in  the  bower  over  your 
head.  She  is  the  daughter  of  your  host — why, 
most  illustrious  sir,  she  has  stars  instead  of  eyes ! 
— cheeks  like  the  glowing  dawn,  and  lips  .... 
lips" — (here  the  speaker  stopped  short,  snapped 
his  fingers,  seized  his  funnel  of  a  nose;  but  could 
find  no  fit  comparison  for  the  maiden's  lip^-, 
waved  his  hand,  and  went  on  with  his  descrip- 
tion.) "  Her  dark-brown  silken  tresses  are  lux- 
uriant enough,  I  swear,  to  chain  you;  and  her 
little  feet — they  are  a  mere  mouthful.  Hark! 
do  you  hear  them  ?  tuk,  tuk,  they  go,  above  you 
there  ....  there  she  is,  touching  the  floor  with 
her  little  feet  ....  Hark!  how  enchanting!" 

With  a  deep  sigh  Bartholomew  sent  up  a  kiss 
towards  the  ceiling  from  his  projecting  lips. 

"Bui  how  is  she  named?"  enquired  Antony, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Anastasia — if  you  want  any  thing  tend6#er, 
Nfistenka." 

"  What,  and  have  you  made  a  conquest  here, 
too?" 

"  O,  'twould  be  a  sacrilege  to  think  of  such  a 

thing!     She  is  as  far  above  me  as  the  sun.     No 

tongue  can  wag  to  say  any  thing  evil  of  her.    She 

I  is  as  proud  and  haughty  as  a  queen.    The  heart 

'  of  Iv;in  the  Young,  destined  her  a  share  of  his 

throne:  but  fate  willed  otherwise." 

j      The  door  opened,  and  the  appearance  of  a  new 

face  interrupted  the  talk  of  the  Cyiherean  tale- 

'  teller,  whose  go.ssip  was  not  without  interest  to 

I  Ehrenstein.    "  Fioravenii  Ar\siol]e himself!"  said 

the  interpreter,  hastily  rising  from  his  seat. 


THE   HERETIC. 


,43 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THE   ARTIST. 


"They  were  poets,  and  their  fictions  were  so  sublime, 
that  they  fell  down  trembling  before  their  own  creations." 
— N.  Nadejdin. 

"  Antonio,  dear  Antonio !  adopted  son  of  my 
brother,  what  gods  have  brought  thee  hither?" 
cried  the  artist,  embracing  the  traveller. 

This  was  a  tall  man  of  middle  age,  whose 
black  flowing  locks  were  already  tinged  with 
hoar:  on  the  lofty  forehead,  that  throne  of  intel- 
lect, might  he  seen  a  deep  hollow — the  trace  left 
by  the  finger  of  God  when  it  rested,  in  the  middle 
of  his  creative  thought,  on  the  brow  of  his  anointed. 
Goodness  shone  forth  in  every  feature — "  Hadst 
thou  a  good  journey,  art  thou  well,  contented 
with  thy  abode  1  dost  thou  need  anything  1" 
These  questions,  one  crowding  on  the  other, 
were  the  outpouring  of  an  ardent  and  loving 
soul ;  and  they  rushed  forth  so  rapidly,  that  An- 
tony could  not  find  time  to  answer  them — "  How 
many  years  it  is  since  1  saw  thee!  thou  wert 
not  much  taller  than  my  ....  Andrea,"  he  add- 
ed, turning  to  his  son,  who  hitherto  had  been 
standing  in  silence  at  the  door,  remarking  with 
delight,  and  an  enthusiasm  above  his  years,  the 
pleasing  scene  of  his  father's  interview  with  the 
stranger;  his  blue,  intellectual  eyes  sparkled 
with  the  indescribable  sympathy  which  attract- 
ed him  towards  Ehrenstein — "Andrea,"  contin- 
ued the  artist,  "  why  standest  thou  as  if  thou  wert 
nailed  there  1  Why  dost  thou  not  embrace  our 
Antonio  1  He,  too,  is  my  son  ;  thou  wilt  be  his 
younger  brother." 

And  the  boy  threw  himself,  with  no  childish 
feelings,  into  the  arms  of  him  who  had  been 
named  his  brother :  Antony  received  him  in  his 
embrace,  and  kissed  his  forehead — "  Thou  wilt 
love  me,  dear  Andrea,  wilt  thou  notl" 

"  I  love  thee  already,  Antonio." 

In  the  mean  time  Aristotle  gave  a  hint  to  Bar- 
tholomew (who  was  of  inferior  rank  to  himself) 
to  leave  them  to  themselves;  the  presence  of  a 
stranger  seemed  like  a  sacrilege  and  obstacle  to 
their  union.  This  hint  was  obeyed  without  hesi- 
tation, and  with  such  rapidity  and  address,  that 
Ehrenstein  did  not  remark  how  he  had  slipped 
out.  On  this  occasion  the  interpreter's  short  leg, 
•which  usually  beat  crotchets,  executed  semi- 
quavers, as  though  afraid  of  delaying  its  master. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  my  second  father,"  said 
Antony,  delivering  it  to  the  architect;  "in  the 
rapture  of  your  affectionate  caresses,  I  had  al- 
most forgotten  to  give  it  to  you." 

The  letter  was  as  follows—"  Herewith  is  the 
son  of  my  heart.  Replace  me  for  Antonio,  mv 
dear  brother.  I  should  have  simply  said — I  send 
him  to  thee  without  preface ;  but  so  strange  is 
his  position  in  the  world,  his  e.xistence  is  so  ex- 
traordinary, that  I  ought,  in  placing  him  under 
thy  wing,  to  explain  what  I  desire  thee  to  do  on 
this  occasion.  The  child  of  fate— an  ardent 
dreamer,  too,  like  thyself— in  a  remote  and  un- 
civilized country,  the  very  name  of  which  hath 
but  lately  reached  us ;  by  these  rights  he,  more 
than  others,  may  claim  thine  aid  "and  powerful 
protection.  Thou  lovest  me  ;  thou  hast  a  strong 
sympathy  with  all  that  is  noble,  and  assuredly 
thou  wilt  love  my  Antonio.  I  will  not  praise 
his  intellect :  I  formed  it  myself  I  will  not  praise 
to  thee  the  elevation  of  his  mind:  thou  thvself 
wilt  perceive  it.  His  heart  is  pure:  guard,  O 
my  brother !  that  shrine,  in  which  the  angels  may 
aoirror  themselves.     I  fear  only  one  thing— his 


soul  is  so  inflamed  with  dreams  of  sublimity  and 
virtue,  that  he  forgetteth  to  take  care  of  his  own 
interest,  and  the  advantages  of  life.  Is  it  for  me 
to  say  to  thee,  try  to  cool  his  vehement  ardour— 
to  thee,  who  art  thyself  so  ardent  with  all  the  en- 
thusiastic projects  of  youth?  Remember,  my 
dear  brother,  that  my  revenge  hath  robbed  him 
of  illustrious  birth,  of  rank,  of  wealth.  God  only 
knoweth  what  I  have  taken  Irom  him,  and  what 
I  have  given  him  in  exchange ;  and  make  up  for 
him  the  loss  by  thy  love,  which  is  very,  very  dear 
to  Antonio — dearer  than  thou  canst  imagine. 
"  Here  is  the  key  to  this  enigma: — 
"  When  I  took  away  Antonio,  then  an  infant 
of  a  year  old,  my  triumph  was  the  triumph  of 
the  tiger  which  hath  seized  his  victim  from 
among  the  band  of  hunters  who  are  chasing  him. 
I  swore  I  would  make  my  ward  a  leech,  and  then 
proclaim  him  as  the  Baron  Ehrenstein.  Till  I 
had  fulfilled  my  vow,  every  thing  seemed  to  con- 
spire to  aid  its  execution;  my  heart  overflowing 
with  revenge,  the  love  of  the  mother,  the  cold- 
ness of  the  father.  But  when  my  Antonio  be- 
came, in  theory  and  practice,  a  physician,  my 
heart,  vanquished  by  the  noble  qualities  of  his 
mind,  by  my  love  for  him,  rejected  the  thought 
of  a  public  revenge,  such  as  I  had  determined 
to  brand  the  proud  baron  withal.  '  Who  gave 
thee  the  right,'  cried  a  secret  voice,  'to  punish 
the  innocent  for  the  guilty  1  is  it  for  thee  to  do 
this,  O  mani  With  what  price,  with  what  la- 
bour, didst  thou  buy  this  being  1  The  father 
might,  perhaps,  belong  to  thee  by  the  right  of 
vengeance;  but  what  hath  the  son  ever  done  to 
thee  1  Dost  thou  mean  to  create  a  destiny  of  thine 
own?  ....  Yielding  to  this  secret  voice,  I 
confined  my  vengeance  to  writing  to  the  baron. 
'Your  son  is  a  leech.  Would  you  have  him 
with  you  T  I  sent  my  letter  by  a  trusty  messen- 
ger, and— I  confess  to  thee— I  trembled  lest  the 
baron  should  come  to  reason,  lest  conscience 
and  nature  should  speak  stronger  than  pride; 
and  ....  lest  he  should  take  my  Antonio  from 
me,  lest  he  should  destroy  all  the  happiness  of 
the  boy's  life.  O,  then  he  would  have  repaid 
me  vengeance  for  vengeance  !  But  I  was  soon 
restored  to  tranquility.  I  found  a  being,  created 
in  the  likeness  and  by  the  will  of  God,  and  bear- 
ing the  name  of  Christian,  who  ....  wouldst 
thou  believe  it "?  .  .  .  .  my  tongue  cannot  force 
itself  to  utter  ....  I  found  a  father  who  re- 
nounced his  child !  And  he  renounced  him, 
why  1  Because  this  son — though  he  might  cease 
to  be  a  leech,  yet  had  been  one.  We  beheld  the 
baron  in  every  thing  ....  I  think  I  see  him 
now  ....  I  see  that  miserable  lordling,  kneel- 
ing before  me,  weeping  and  imploring  me  not  to 
take  away  his  son,  a  year-old  morsel  of  baronial 
flesh.  Heartless  wretch  !  .  .  .  .  In  his  place  I 
would  have  fulfilled  the  oath  I  had  made  to  the 
Italian  physician ;  but  I  would  have  given  up 
my  son  dead,  or  to  the  dead !  Now,  when  this 
son's  mind  is  enlightened  by  religion  and  science, 
when  he  is  made,  in  fact,  better  than  he  could 
have  become  in  his  father's  house,  amidst  the 
servility  of  menials  and  the  pride  of  a  father — 
now  I  offer  him  this  treasure,  a  treasure  of  which 
a  prince  of  the  empire  might  well  be  proud — and 
the  baron  orders  me  to  be  informed,  through  a 
trusty  servant,  that  he  has  no  son.  This,  he  adds, 
is  notorious  to  the  emperor,  the  court,  the  clergy, 
and — if  it  become  necessary  to  countervail  my 
calumny — he  relies  on  their  protection.  As  a 
cruel  proof  that  he  deprives  Antonio  of  all  rights 
on  his  heartj  his  name,  his  family  rank,  he  has 


44 


THE    HERETIC. 


adopted  Poppel,  the  son  of  his  deceased  sister; 
he  wai  brought  up  in  his  house,  along  with  his 
second  son  Ferdinand.  The  Emperor,  pitying 
him  for  having  no  children,  has  seconded  his 
wishes  and  confirmed  his  choice.  As  a  sign  of 
his  favour,  he  hath  raised  the  adopted  son  to  the 
rank  of  knight.  Thus  the  baron  hath  bound  him- 
self, even  for  the  future.  It  is  impossible  for  him 
to  retract,  after  the  emperor  hath  given  his  word. 
'  If  ever  I  attempt,'  he  comraandeth  them  to  tell 
me,  'to  make  known  that  he  has  a  son  a  physi- 
oian,  he  will  take  measures  to  shut  up  that  .son 
in  some  place,  where  the  prisoner  assuredly  will 
never  more  be  heard  of 

"  The  time  has  been,  when,  strong  in  body  and 
mind,  I  would  have  resisted  the  proud  baron  and 
unfeeling  father;  but  now  I  am  on  the  brink  of 
the  grave — revenge  hath  yielded  to  attachment 
for  my  pupil.  Assured  also  that  Antonio,  if  in- 
formed of  nis  birth,  would  not  desire  to  be  unwil- 
lingly recognised  as  a  son  and  heir,  I  even  rejoice 
that  I  have,  by  this  trial  of  the  father,  cleared  my 
own  conscience,  fulfilled  the  wishes  of  the  moth- 
er, and  obtained,  as  it  were,  my  Antonio  a  sec- 
ond time.  We  all  return  to  the  circle  of  our  for- 
mer hopes,  duties,  and  intentions. 

"We  were  still  discussing  our  future  plans, 
when  I  received  from  thee  a  letter  begging  me  to 
find  thee  a  physician  lor  the  court  of  Muscovy. 
When  informed  of  the  contents  of  this  letter,  An- 
tonio offered  himseli',  with  enthusiasm,  for  the 
proposed  employment.  Having  other  views  for 
him,  however,  1  at  first  gave  him  a  decided  re 
fusal:  but  I  received  an  answer  from  the  baron 
and  after  that  an  anonymous  letter,  informing 
me,  that  unless  my  pupil's  name  were  changed, 
he  might  expect  imprisonment.  To  induce  An- 
tonio to  consent  to  a  change  of  name,  I  could  nev- 
er hope,  from  the  innate  pride  and  firmness  of 
his  character;  and  I  thought  it,  too,  unworthy 
both  of  himself  and  me,  to  so  much  as  propose 
such  a  thing.  The  baron's  death  might  still  un- 
do the  knot  of  destiny;  in  the  mean  time  the 
thought  that  a  monastery,  a  prison,  a  dungeon 
might  be  my  ward's  lot,  terrified  me.  Thou 
knowest  how  easily  this  may  be  done  in  Italy  in 
our  times,  when  lives,  even  more  important,  are 
bought  for  a  piece  of  gold.  Besides,  I  had  re- 
ceived from  credible  persons  information  of  the 
designs  menacing  Antonio's  liberty.  This  dan- 
ger changed  all  my  plans ;  I  gave  him  my  bles- 
sing, and  he  set  out  on  his  distant  journey.  Age, 
feebleness,  the  weight  of  my  sins,  have  made  lue 
so  weak,  I  love  him  so  much,  that  I  am  ready  to 
consent  even  to  part  with  him  for  ever,  if  by  so'do- 
ing  I  can  secure  him  so  good  a  position  as  thou 
promiscst  in  Muscovy.  At  the  first  letter  I  re- 
ceive from  thcc,  and  with  Antonio's  consent,  I 
intend  to  send  thither  all  I  possess,  and  end  my 
days  in  a  monastery.  Already  half  my  life  hath 
been  one  heavy,  dreadful  sin — revenge.  It  is 
time  to  think  of  eternity. 

"How  happy  is  Antonio  in  his  dreams!  A 
child  of  destiny,  he  is  unconscious  of  how  much 
is  done  for  him— of  how  we  labour  for  him.  He 
knoweth  nothing  of  his  father's  rank  and  wealth, 
or  that  that  monster  hath  renounced  him.  Hap- 
py ignorance  !  Long  may  he  remain  in  it !  He 
dwells  ia  paradise— he  hath  not  eaten  the  for- 
l)idden  fruit.  It  is  our  duly  to  keep  him  in  this 
delightful  enchantment. 

"  This,  then,  my  beloved  brother,  is  the  cause 
wherefore  I  .send  ihee  the  son  of  my  heart;  con- 
fiding to  ihee,  with  him,  liis  hopes,  his  perils, 
and  his  fate.  Remember  I  am  his  debtor  in 
every  thing,  body  and  soul,  here  and  hereafter." 


While  Aristotle  was  reading  his  brother's  let- 
ter, the  young  physician  was  conversing  at  the 
table  with  Andri6usha,  encircling  with  one  arm 
the  boy's  slender,  graceful  form.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  diflference  of  age,  there  established  itself 
between  them  from  that  moment,  a  strong  and 
solid  Iriendship. 

"  Come,  both  of  ye,  my  children,  come  to  my 
heart !"  said  the  architect,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
when  he  had  read  through  the  letter;  pressing 
both  of  them  to  his  bosom. 

Then  again  began  questions  and  tales  about 
the  life  of  young  Ehrenstein,  his  education,  his 
visit  to  the  Eternal  City,  the  hopes  that  had  at- 
tracted him  to  Russia.  The  artist  at  one  mo- 
ment paid  these  recitals  the  tribute  of  his  tears; 
at  another,  burning  with  love  to  the  beautiful,  he 
would  press  with  rapture  the  hand  of  the  phy- 
sician. Then  again  he  shook  his  head,  as  though 
not  quite  assured  of  the  fulfilment  of  the  young 
man's  lofty  hopes ;  but  these  fears,  these  doubts, 
were  momentary.  The  flame  that  glowed  ia 
Ehrenstein's  bosom  soon  communicated  to  the 
breast  of  Aiistotle^  and  the  artist,  forgetting  bit- 
ter experience,  joined  his  own  visions  to  the  vis- 
ions of  the  stranger,  built  with  him  temples  to^ 
science,  to  the  love  of  humanity,  to  every  thing 
beautiful,  and  promised  Antony  to  aid  him  ia 
all.  With  sincere  delight  did  Andri6usha  listea 
to  their  conversation,  and  gazed  with  a  kind  of 
pride,  now  at  his  father,  now  at  the  dear  Ger- 
man, as  he  called  Ehrenstein.  On  the  other 
hand,  Ehrenstein,  charmed  with  his  intellectual 
appearance,  reading  in  the  boy's  eyes  a  ready 
reply  to  the  questioning  of  his  own  heart,  enjoy- 
ed the  thought,  that  in  him  he  should  really  find 
a  brother.  And  Aristotle  rejoiced,  like  a  happy" 
father,  reading  the  same  hope  in  the  language  o£ 
their  eyes,  which  so  clearly  expressed  their  at- 
traction towards  each  other,  and  in  the  caresses 
which  they  shared. 

"  Thou  hadst  but  a  bad  reception,"  said  Aris- 
totle;  "  the  execution  of  the  Lithuanians."  .... 
"  Oh  !  I  had  long  forgotten  in  your  company 
every  thing  painful.  But  thou  re'mindest  me  of 
the  execution ;  and  those  unhappy  wretches 
seem  to  flit  before  my  eyes.  What  cruelty  !" 
"Gently,  young  man!  Th^  lightning' of 
heaven  sometimes  consumeth,  sometimes  redu- 
ceth  villages  to  ashes:  yet  doth  it  clear  the  air 
for  a  good  harvest.  Shalt  thou,  therefore,  mur- 
mur against  Heaven  !  Partial  evil  is  nothing, 
when  it  saveth  the  whole.  I  cannot  tell  thee 
accurately;  but  I  think  that  the  execution  of  the 
Lithuanians  was  necessary,  not  alone  for  the 
safety  of  Ivan.  Doth  it  not  weaken  the  intrigues 
of  Lithuania.  Russia's  dangerous  rival  1  The 
Great  Prince's  suspicions  are  not  without  founda- 
tion. In  the  first  place,  weakness  is  ever  sus- 
picious; and  Ivan  hath  not  yet  had  time  to 
strengthen  himself  so  far  as  not  to  fear  for  the 
stability  of  the  edifice  he  hath  founded.  In  the 
second  place,  the  neighbours  of  Russia  have  be- 
gun to  grow  jealous,  and  seriously  so,  ot  her 
growing  power :  nor  are  there  any  means,  secret 
or  open,  permitted  or  forbidden,  of  which  they 
will  not  make  use  in  order  to  crush  her  in  the 
person  of  her  sovereign.  Here,  then,  is  clearly 
the  motive  for  severe  measures,  and  the  assu- 
rance of  their  justice:  here  punishment  taketh 
place  openly,  without  any  concealment.  Some- 
times Ivan  doth  indeed  play  a  dark  game  .... 
but  how  can  we  find  a  difficulty  in  excusing  these 
crooked  and  secret  measures,  when  we  behold  in 
their  consequences  the  good   of  his   eaapire ! 


THE   HERETIC. 


45 


'What  cruelty!'  sayst  thou,  looking  at  the  exe- 
cution of  the  Lithuanians;  but  canst  thou  more 
•easily  find  excuse  for  what  hath  been,  and  is  still, 
done' in  our  own  Italy  1  The  tire  and  the  iron 
cage — are  tliese  worse  than  the  horrors  and  the 
cruelties,  disgraceful  to  humanity,  which  thou 
must  have  too  ofien  beheld  in  the  petty  princi- 
palities of  Ausonia  1  Looli  at  what  is  going  on 
in  Spain  !  There  they  have  established  what 
they  call  the  Inquisition;  which,  on  the  informa- 
tion of  a  hireling  spy,  draggeih  victims  to  the 
stake,  and  burneth  them  to  death,  by  quick  or 
slow  fire !  I  am  no  defender  of  cruelty  in  any 
case;  but  if  in  enlightened  countries  they  give 
no  breathing-time  to  the  bloody  axe,  surely  it  is 
excusable  in  Muscovy  to"  .... 

"  I  am  ready  to  yield  to  thy  proof,"  said  the 
leech;  "particularly  after  what  I  have,  alas! 
beheld  at  Milan  and  at  Rome.  Permit  me, 
however,  to  remark,  thou  dsfendest  the  customs 
of  this  country  as  warmly  as  if  Muscovy  were 
thy  native  land"  .... 

A  slight  blush  tlitted  across  the  face  of  Fiora- 
venti  Aristotle.  He  seemed  to  be  preparing  to 
make  some  confession ;  but  not  liking  that  his 
son  should  hear  it,  he  sent  him  to  inquire  about 
the  health  of  the  Signorina  Anastasia— "  She  is 
good  and  kind,"  said  Alberto;  "she  loveth  thee 
so  well." 

The  boy  immediately  comprehended  that  his 
presence  interfered  with  the  freedom  of  the  con- 
versation, and  hastened  to  tear  himself  from  the 
embrace  of  his  new  brother,  nodding  affection- 
ately as  he  did  so.  "  Dost  thou  know,  Anto- 
nio," he  cried,  stopping  at  the  door:  "they  told 
the  signorina,  to  whom  I  am  now  going,  that 
thou  hadst  horns,  and  a  frightful  face." 

"Really!"  said  Antony,  blushing;  "endeav- 
our to  undeceive  her." 

"I  have  already  managed  to  do  that.  I  will 
tell  thee  some  day  all  about  it." 

With  these  words  the  arch  boy  darted  from 
the  chamber. 

"  Thou  art,  perhaps,  astonished,"  said  Aris- 
totle, "that  my  Andrea  is  no  stranger  in  the 
house  here.  I  will  add,  that  the  signorina's 
bed-chamber,  even  the  master's  oratory,  are 
never  closed  to  him.  To  a  foreigner  !  a  Latin- 
er!  you  will  say,  having  already  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  observing  the  dislike  felt  by  all  Rus- 
sians towards  a  foreigner.  No !  my  son,  though 
the  son  of  an  Italian — of  a  zealous  Catholic — is 
no  foreigner  in  Muscovy.  He  is  a  real  Rus- 
sian, and  hath  taken  the  faith  of  Russia ;  and 
this  by  my  own  desire,  without  compulsion  of 
any  power  whatever." 

"  I  thought  that  the  printer  Bartholomew"  .  .  . 

The  young  man  did  not  finish  his  phrase:  Aris- 
totle interrupted  him — "  That  is,  thou  thought- 
est  that  he  alone  was  capable  of  this.  Without 
being  ashamed,  I  say,  I  have  done  the  same 
-with  my  son.  Thou  hast  seen  my  Andrea. 
Thou  hast  understood  this  child — this  treasure 
— this  pledge  of  a  wife — of  such  a  wife!  If 
thou  but  knewest  ....  Fioraventi  is  his  fa- 
ther. Fioraventi  is  as  proud  of  him  as  of  one 
of  his  best  works.  Ay,  one  of  the  best !  .  .  .  . 
.for  there  is  another  which— I  am  ashamed  to 
confess  to  thee — is  dearer  to  me  than  all.  I  am 
vain,  selfish,  ready  for  my  own  name,  for  my 
own  glory,  to  sacrifice  God  knoweth  what!  In 
one  word,  thou  wilt  know  me  better — I  am  a 
madman  ....  But  in  my  senseless  love  for 
myself  I  have  not  forgotten  my  son — I  have 
considered  his  welfare.     I  will  not  conceal  it  I 


from  thee,  my  friend;  Muscovy  must  be  my 
grave.  This  is  the  law  of  destiny.  I  am  ne- 
cessary to  the  Tsar;  engineer,  brickmaker, 
founder,  mason,  architect — I  am  all  for  him; 
and  there  is  no  three  that  can  drag  me  from  this 
country,  no  magic  which  can  enable  me  to  re- 
turn to  my  own,  until  men  arise  capable  of  re- 
placing me:  and  they.  .  .  .  God  knoweth  when 
they  will  appear  ....  The  Great  Prince  over- 
whelmeth  me  with  favour;  payeth  me  with 
treasure,  with  caresses,  with  kindnesses.  His 
most  distinguished  generals,  the  highest  signori, 
dare  not  approach  him  unannounced;  but  this 
I  can  do  at  any  time.  The  glance  at  which  all 
tremble,  hath  never  once  been  turned  on  me  in 
wrath.  But  this  same  Great  Prince,  this  friend 
and  patron,  hath  entwined  me  in  such  a  net  of 
iron,  that  I  can  never  burst  through  it.  My  ev- 
ery step,  my  every  action,  is  known  to  him. 
As  I  know  my  fate,  I  determine  to  dedicate  to 
him  my  life,  my  powers.  Perhaps  I  myself  op- 
pose not  this  inevitable  destiny :  perhaps  I  my- 
self have  sought  it.  Let  Muscovy,  then,  be  my 
tomb;  at  least  I  will  erect  over  it  a  monument 
that  enlightened  nations  shall  some  day,  per- 
haps, come  to  admire.  Into  this  creation  I  have 
thrown  all  my  soul :  my  knowledge,  my  coun- 
try, my  life,  my  immortality.  But  my  son  ! — 
that  beloved  pledge  bequeathed  to  me  by  my 
wife  !  my  son — whom  I  myself  so  fondly  love 
.  .  .  .  I  have  thought  for  him  too.  The" Great 
Prince,  to  reward  my  services,  hath  sworn  not 
to  desert  my  child  when  I  shall  be  no  more.  He 
caresseth  him  even  now,  as  he  caresseth  not  his 
own  children.  I  wish  Andrea  Aristotle  to  be  a 
general"  .... 

"Why  not  an  architect  like  thyself?" 
"  "  Why  1  why  ....  Here,  even  here,  thou 
must  behold  a  selfish  madness  ....  I  wish 
there  to  be  but  one  Fioraventi  an  artist  in  the 
world.  Yes,  yes!  thou  wilt  know  me  better, 
young  man  :  yes,  yes!  'tis  not  youth  alone  that 
burneth  with  fiery  dreams.  Beneath  these  white 
ashes,  too  (he  pointed  to  his  white  hair),  there 
is  hid  an  unextinguishable  volcano  ....  But 
let  me  return  to  my  son.  The  penetrating  eyes 
of  Ivan  read  my  soul;  and  Ivan  calleth  my  An- 
drea his  general — converses  with  him  about 
military  affairs,  lights  up  the  desire  for  military'- 
glory  in  his  young  heart,  and  strongly  enjoineth 
his  own  sons,  for  the  sake  of  their  father's  soul, 
never  to  forget  their  father's  voevoda.  'Tis  well, 
methought.  I  shall  die — and  he  will  be  rich  by 
the  favour  of  the  Russian  Tsars.  But  with 
what  eyes,  with  what  feelings  will  the  heretic 
be  regarded  at  the  court  of  some  future  Great 
Prince,  by  the  boyarins,  priests,  and  people ! 
At  present  I  am  protected  from  their  hatred 
and  contempt  by  the  name  of  church-builder; 
for  the  present,  I,  and  other  persons  of  different 
faith,  am  shielded  by  the  formidable  will  of 
Ivan,  before  which  every  thing  gives  way — man 
and  destiny.  But  rulers  with  this  union  of 
mighty  intellect  and  will,  are  born  but  once  in  a 
century:  who  can  answer  for  the  future  1  .... 
Besides,  I  wish  the  future  rulers  to  love  my  An- 
drea of  their  own  free-will  ....  I  wish  every 
Prussian — every  rank — to  surround  him  with  re- 
spect as  a  native,  as  a  countryman.  Then  he 
will  be  able  to  aim  high  .  .  .'.  I  did  not  long 
hesitate.  Andrea  took  the  Russian  faith.  His 
godfather  was  Ivan  the  Young.  He  will  be  a 
father  to  my  son  when  I  am  no  more." 

"  Pardon  me  for  my  thoughtless  reproach.     1 
would  have  done  the  same  "for  a  beloved  being. 


A6 


THE  HERETIC, 


so  dear  to  ray  heart.  But  ....  now  for  anoth 
er  question.  Do  not  attribute  it  to  idle  curiosity 
in  a  young  man,  whose  whole  title  to  thy  indul- 
gence consisleih  in  being  thy  brothers  pupil. 
Take  this  question  only  as  a  sign  of  my  love  for 
the  beauiitui.  Tell  me  in  what  great  monu- 
ment of  arcbitectu.-e,  here  in  Muscovy,  thou  in- 
tendesi  to  hand  down  thy  name  to  future  agesl" 

The  artist's  face  was  again  flushed  with  a 
glow  of  modesty.  He  pressed  with  enthusiasm 
the  physician's  hand;  and  with  quivering  lips, 
which  proved  the  agitation  of  his  soul,  he  an- 
swered:  "Ay!  thou  wilt  understand  me,  young 
man.  Thy  journey  to  a  foreign  land,  almost  on 
the  borders  of  humanity,  undertaken  without 
views  of  interest,  is  already  a  proof  of  a  noble 
soul.  My  aim,  too,  is  the  realization  of  an  idea 
elevated  and  sublime  ....  (at  least  I  think  so 
....  Of  this  in  any  case  I  am  assured)  to  thee 
I  can  disclose  my  heart,  my  projects.  I  will  re- 
late to  thee  my  toils  and  my  hopes;  I  will  tell 
thee  how  I  dread  to  die  without  doing  some- 
thing worthy  of  immortality,  and  by  what  means 
I  wish  to  purchase  a  name  on  earth.  Favour 
me  with  the  indulgence  which  my  weaknesses 
implore  from  thy  generosity. 

"Thou  knowest,"  continued  Aristotle,  "that 
I  have  made  myself  some  reputation  in  Italy." 

"  The  monuments  of  art  which  thou  hast  left 
in  that  country  will  never  let  it  die,  even  though 
thou  wert  to  produce  nothing  more." 

"  No,  my  friend  ;  these  efforts,  rather  bold  than 
inspired,  may  have  given  me  a  humble  niche  in 
the  chronicles  of  art.  Experiments  are  not  ex- 
ploits: for  triumphs  it  is  that  I  am  now  prepar- 
ing myself  While  living  in  Italy,  there  dimly 
arose  'in  my  soul  an  ideal  which  was  destined  to 
be  realized,  under  possible  earthly  proportions, 
afterwards  here  in  Moscow.  Even  then  the  idea 
gave  me  no  rest:  following  the  brilliant  meteor, 
and  without  power  to  execute  my  project,  I 
yielded  to  the  burden  of  an  intolerable  anguish: 
and  was  this  surprising!  I — a  weak  man,  a 
creature  of  nothing — desired  to  build  a  worthy 
temple  to  God — the  mighty  God — the  Creator  of 
the  universe!  All  that  I  undertook  to  express 
in  lines,  colours,  forms,  corporeal  methods,  seem- 
ed to  me  immeasurably  small  beside  this  ideal— 
the  offspring  of  my  diviner  part.  Anguish,  tor- 
ture insupportable  !  I  called  to  my  aid  dead  and 
living  nations  :  interrogated  every  age,  I  evoked 
the  past  and  the  present— hundreds  of  genera- 
tions: that  each  might  contribute  its  mite  to- 
wards the  building  of  a  temple  to  God.  Then 
unfolded  themselves  at  my  call  the  Parthe- 
non, the  Coloseum,  the  Alhambra,  St.  Sophia, 
troops  of  myths  in  stone  descended  from  their 
pedestals  :  the  pyramids  of  Egypt  tottered  to 
their  foundations,  and  stood  aroiuiu  me,  like  sec- 
ular oaks  around  an  emmet,  hardly  visible  to 
the  eye.  'What  temple  would>t  thou  build  to 
God,  when  we  are  but  the  tombs  of  men;  yet 
even  on  these  tombs  toiled  centuries  and  mill- 
ions of  hands]'  seemed  to  ask  these  giants  o(^  the 
ancient  world;  and  my  imagination  died  away 
within  me  at  the  question.  And  then,  when  at 
my  call  arose  cities  and  nations;  when  each  of 
them  offered  me  one  letter  of  my  divine  poem— 
I  could  not  even  compose  these  letters  of  vari- 
ous lands  into  one  harmonious  word  :  is  it 
strange!  Each  letter  was  an  inspiration;  ihcv 
all  resounded  in  my  .soul  like  a  wondrous  myri- 
ad-chorus of  angels,  accompanied  by  a  tempest 
frotn  all  the  ends  of  the  world.  Mv  head  grew 
giddy;  my  heart  fainted  within  me!     I  fell  sick 


....  They  were  even  about  to  shut  me  up 
with  madmen :  perhaps  it  would  have  been  just. 
Long  I  remained  in  a  feeble  condition.  Restor- 
ed at  length  by  the  physician's  aid,  and  my  love 
for  my  son,  I  returned  to  my  senses  :  and  the 
first  voice  of  reason  commanded  me  to  fly  from 
Italy,  where  methought  the  very  air  inflamed 
the  imagination  to  madness.  The  Turkish  Sul- 
tan invited  me,  through  the  Doge  Marcelli,  to 
Constantinople.  •  What  noble  or  sublime  works/ 
said  I  to  myself,  'can  I  execute  for  a  people  the 
enemy  of  Christ ;  a  people  to  whom  is  promised, 
in  a  future  world,  nothing  but  a  refined  sensual- 
ity! Is  it  fountains  and  baths!  Is  it  seraglios! 
.  .  .  .  Seraglios!  baths!  when  the  foundations 
of  a  temple  to  the  living  God  were  already  laid 
in  my  heart !'  I  spurned  the  Sultan's  gold. 
Then  followed  another  invitation.  This  was 
from  the  sovereign  of  this  country,  and  was  ac- 
companied by  a  proposition  to  build  a  temple  to 
the  most  holy  Mother  of  God.  With  pleasure 
....  what  do  I  say  !  with  rapture  I  accepted 
this  new  proposal ;  and  here  I  am.  Here,  my 
friend,  I  think  to  realize  the  ideal  which  for  so 
many  years  hath  been  rising  up  dimly  in  my 
soul.  At  last  I  have  united  it  with  possibilit)' — 
with  the  powers  of  one  generation — with  the  will 
and  resources  of  one  sovereign.  I  am  now  put- 
ting it  on  paper.  When  I  have  finished  it,  thou 
shall  see  it,  and  tell  me  whether  it  be  worthy  of 
its  destination.  Then  I  shall  submit  it  to  the 
judgment  of  Ivan  Sophia,  and  the  Primate.  But 
what  toils,  what  struggles  hath  it  not  cost  me — 
what  will  it  not  yet  cost  me,  ere  I  can  bring  my 
idea  to  completion  !  What  have  I  not  even  now 
to  fear  from  the  decision  of  the  secular  and  ec- 
clesiastical powers,  well-disposed  it  may  be  to- 
wards my  work,  but  little  acquainted  with  what 
is  beautiful  in  art !  Ay,  if  thou  knewest  how 
dearly  is  bought  each  step  that  leads  me  to  my 
aim  ;  through  what  petty  cares  and  trivial  mate- 
rialities I  have  to  clear  my  path  towards  that 
object !  I  say  it  not  boastingly  ;  but  a  man  mus. 
possess  ray  iron  will,  my  burning  passion  for 
art,  not  to  be  repulsed  by  such  obstacles.  I  will 
but  give  thee  some  examples  of  these  obstacles. 
Invited  hither  for  the  construction  of  the  church 
of  Our  Lady,  I  found  the  art  of  building  in  its 
most  es.sential  part — that  of  the  mere  mateiiak 
....  in  the  rudest  itlfancy.  Before  I  could 
build,  I  was  obliged  to  teach  them  to  destro\ . 
The  old  Church  of  the  Assumption,  which  had 
partially  yielded  to  the  Russian  builders,  in  oth- 
er parts  held  together  firmly,  in  spite  of  the  ef- 
forts of  a  thousand  hands,  labouring  to  throw  it 
down.  When  I  taught  them  the  mechanism  of 
the  battering-ram,  they  considered  me  a  magi- 
cian. They  knew  not  how  to  make  bricks. 
How  much  time  did  I  not  employ  in  teaching 
them  this  art !  With  my  own  hands  I  tempered 
the  clav,  I  made  the  moulds;  I  showed  them  the- 
method  of  burning.  They  knew  not  how  to 
make  mortar,  and  this,  too,  I  myself  showed 
them." 

"Bricks,  mortar!  ....  When  God  himself 
was  reflected  in  thy  soul!     Heavy  is  the  strug- 
between   the   Ideal   and  the   Material !      I 
should  have  sunk  beneath  it." 

Heavy  it  was,  'lis  true;  but  I  sank  not.  Oh  ! 
I  had  strength  enough  for  other  heavy  trials  too. 
There  arose  a  war  with  Nfivgonui.  Ivan  select- 
ed me  from  among  his  architects  for  his  engi- 
neer. He  rcquiretl  me  to  build  bridges  for  the  « 
passage  of  his  army  over  rivers;  I  built  him 
bridges.    He  wanted  me  to  cast  cannon-balls  ;  1 


THE   HERETIC. 


i1 


cast  them.  He  expressed  a  wish  that  I  should 
direct  the  artillery;  I  performed  his  wish.  He 
desired  to  coin  money;  I  coined  him  money.  In 
a  word,  I  transformed  myself  into  whatever  Ivan 
wished  me  to  be.  Think  not  that  I  did  all  this 
out  of  luve  or  devotion  to  the  Tsar.  I  love  him 
— I  am  devoted  to  him,  as  a  man  grateful  for  his 
favour;  but  it  was  another  Heeling,  it  was  an- 
other motive  that  directed  my  actions.  I  made 
myself  the  slave  of  his  will — his  day-labourer — 
in  order  to  win  his  favour  and  confidence;  for 
his  favour  and  confidence  were  necessary  for 
the  fulfilment  of  ray  idea.  The  temple  I  wish 
to  erect  is  of  gigantic  dimensions.  I  want  for  it 
about  half  the  height  of  the  Kreml,  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  hands,  piles  of  gold — the  price  of 
terrible,  almost  blood-stained  labours.  I  am 
buying  from  by  master  almost  every  yard  of 
ground — each  hundred  hands,  each  handful  of 
silver.  And  till  now — shall  I  confess  it  lo  thee, 
ray  friend  1 — I  have  had  nothing  but  toil,  noth- 
ingbut  struggle;  and  not  an  approaching  glimpse 
of  success.  I  am  still  very  far  from  my  object. 
All  I  have  made  my  own  is  the  hope  of  one  day 
attaining  it.  Who  can  tell  1  Perhaps  bitter  re- 
ality, necessity,  ignorance,  will  kill  my  achieve- 
ment in  the  embryo.  Perhaps  death  will  reach 
me  ere  I  can  complete  it"  .... 

Here  the  artist  sighed  heavily,  and  tears  filled 
his  eyes.  Antony  pressed  his  hand  with  sym- 
pathy and  equal  love  for  what  was  noble,  though 
with  diflerent  views;  and  hastened  to  relieve  his 
friend's  heart  by  those  tender  consolations  of 
which  the  artist  stood  so  much  in  need. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

RUSSIAN    GALLANTS. 

On  the  third  day  Aristotle  came  to  the  young 
physician  in  order  to  carry  him  to  be  presented 
to  the  Great  Prince. 

"The  Tsar  is  enraptured  at  thy  arrival,  and 
Is  burning  with  impatience  to  see  thee,"  said  the 
artist;  "and  in  order  the  better  to  please  our 
sovereign,  who  loveth  to  surround  himself  with 
the  splendour  of  the  court  he  hath  created,  do 
thou — his  court  physician — appear  before  him 
in  thy  best  attire.  I  have  commanded  them  to 
saddle  thy  steed;  for  I  must  tell  thee,  that  here 
it  is  accounted  shameful  for  distinguished  per- 
sons to  go  on  foot.  Our  horses  will  enable  us  to 
snatch  an  hour  to  glance,  as  we  go,  at  the  city, 
which  is  passing  away.  I  say  so,  because  the 
future  Moscow  is  about  to  rise  from  the  ashes 
of  the  present." 

In  a  few  minutes  Ehrenstein  had  completed 
his  full-dress  toilette,  and  was  already  mounted 
on  a  fiery  steed,  accompanied  by  Aristotle  and 
an  ofiicer,  also  on  horseback.  How  handsome 
he  was  in  his  German  costume!  How  well- 
contrasted  was  the  black  velvet  of  his  fur-edged 
doublet  with  the  fairness  of  his  face,  and  the 
bright  streaming  curls  with  the  bonnet  of  violet 
velvet,  overshadowed  by  a  plume  of  waving 
feathers !  The  modesty  of  his  profe-ssion  and  of 
his  character  did  not  permit  him  to  lavish  on 
his  dress  the  gold  with  which  his  instructor  had 
generously  supplied  him;  and  therefore  it  glit- 
tered, sparingly  but  tastefully,  only  in  the  buckle 
of  his  cap,  the  clasp  of  his  mantle,  and  the  gir- 
dle which  supported  the  poniard  at  his  side.  To 
try  the  paces  of  hi.s  steed,  he  made  two  or  three 
turns  round  the  court-yard ;  how  gracefully  he 
sat  his  horse — how  masterly  he  guided  him! 


Nor  was  this  wonderful.  In  his  education  nei- 
ther the  art  of  horsemanship  nor  that  of  wield- 
ing the  sword  had  been  neglected:  because,  said 
his  instructor,  all  thi-s  is  indispensable  to  a  phy- 
sician. They  call  thee  to  a  patient — they  send 
thee  the  first  horse  that  cometh  to  hand";  thou 
must  ride  to  the  help  of  thy  fellow-creature 
through  storm  and  tempest,  and  along  bad  roads. 
Thy  life  is  endangered;  they  have  insulted  thy 
honour,  thy  dignity  as  a  man.  Learn  how  to 
defend  the  one  and  the  other.  Learn  how  to 
wipe  out  thy  humiliation  in  the  insulter's  blood. 
From  all  this  it  may  be  seen  that  any  princess 
might  have  chosen  our  young  leech  as  one  of 
her  pages  or  paladins. 

All  was  empty  in  the  boyarin's  court-yard 
when  they  rode  out  of  it.  This  time  no  one 
dared  to  look  at  the  heretic,  even  through  the 
chinks  of  the  wooden  fence,  because  he  had 
been  busy  all  night  long  with  the  evil  ones. 
Thus  they  interpreted  his  having  worked  before 
cock-crow,  putting  in  order  his  travelling  medi- 
cine-chest. He  would  not  allow  himself  to  go 
to  rest,  till  he  had  prepared  himself  to  perform 
his  duty  at  the  first  call  of  a  sufferer.  And  thus 
their  ignorance  had  explained  his  midnight  la- 
bour. The  loneliness  of  his  dwelling,  the  mas- 
ter of  which  had  obstinately  refused  to  see  him, 
in  spite  of  his  courteous  messages,  struck  him 
with  painful  surprise.  "  Thou  art  come  to  a 
land  whose  people  is  yet  in  a  state  of  ignorance," 
said  Aristotle  to  him  consolingly  :  "  wonder  not 
if  it  shun  every  thing  that  is  new  to  it.  Wait. 
All  will  be  changed  by  patience,  time,  indul- 
gence, the  toys  and  rod  of  the  schoolmaster-Tsar, 
if  it  be  needful,  an'  the  child  be  too  froward. 
Besides,  when  thou  comest  to  know  these  sav- 
ages better,  thou  wilt  find  in  them  many  noble- 
qualities — thou  wilt  love  them,  and  thou  too  wilt; 
acquire  their  love.  Thou  wilt  see  that  much  of 
what  is  excellent  hath  remained  among  them 
from  the  mixture  of  their  national  manners  with 
the  Teutonic  customs  :  though  the  Tartar  yoke 
hath  destroyed  many  of  their  good  qualities." 

"I  will  still  dream  of  their  love,"  said  Ehren- 
stein, "till  I  am  quite  disenchanted." 

At  this  moment  Aristotle  threw  a  quick  pene- 
trating glance  at  Anastasia's  chamber.  "  What !" 
he  interrupted,  smiling,  "it  was  not  for  nothing 
that  the  reputation  of  being  a  sorcerer  preceded 
thee  hither  T" 

"  I  do  not  understand  thee." 

"  Thus  it  is.  My  old  eyes  have  just  received 
a  proof  of  thy  magic.  Thou  sawest  not,  but  I 
saw  right  well,  one  of  our  Muscovite  beauties, 
and,  indeed,  the  fairest  among  them,  venturing 
to  gaze  on  thee  from  the  window  of  her  bower, 
with  greedy  curiosity,  though  they  had  painted 
thee  to  her  as  a  monster  with  horns  and  hoofs." 

"  Where  is  she,  where  1"  cried  Antony,  blush- 
ing. 

"  Where  is  she  1  .  .  .  .  rather  ask,  where  is 
the  lightning  when  it  hath  just  flashed.  I  only 
caught  a  sparkling  glance  of  the  black  Italian 
eyes,  and  ....  I  fear  ....  we  shall  have  a 
storm.  Hath  she  so  soon  forgot  her  father's 
stern  commandment  1  ....  Mischief  is  near  at 
hand.  Solitude,  a  handsome  youth  ....  in 
such  close  neighbourhood  ....  a  maiden's 
heart  .  .  .  .  O,  Signora  Anastasia !  I  fear  for 
thee.  No,  I  should  fear  for  thee,  I  ought  to 
have  said,  were  I  not  confident  in  my  young 
friend." 

Antony  pressed  his  hand,  as  if  to  thank  him 
for  his  goud  ooinion  of  him  ;  and  when  they  had 


A9 


THE  HERETIC. 


an  enchanted  castle 

Passing  out  of  the  F16roffV.kii  gate,  and  cross- 
ing one  of  the  three  wooden  bridges  over  the 
ditch,  which  runs  parallel  with  the  stone  wall 
extending  from  the  pool  of  Neglfnnaia  to  the 
river  Moskva,  they  came  out  upon  the  Red 
•Square.  The  range  of  sheds  called  the  Cannon- 
Arsenal  ;  rows  of  wooden  booths  or  shops,  ca- 
pable of  being  taken  down  and  set  up  again  in  a 
tew  hours,  like  a  camp  ;  the  stone  house  of  the 
mayor  of  Moscow,  Khovrin  ;  a  multitude  of 
■wooden  churches  worthy  of  the  appellation  of 
chapels — such  was  the  Red  Square!  Further 
on,  all  is  the  same  as  what  the  traveller  has  al- 
ready seen  in  the  suburbs ;  but  all  these  poor 
temples  were  blazing  with  tapers,  lighted  by  re- 
ligious zeal.  At  the  windows  of  the  houses 
there  was  not  a  human  face  to  be  seen  ;  perhaps, 
liere  and  there,  the  thin  curtain  was  stealthily 
stirred,  and  from  behind  it  there  might  have 
glanced  an  arm  of  satin,  or  flashed  a  magic  eye. 
in  the  streets  our  cavaliers  were  greeted  at  one 
time  with  slavish  servility,  at  another  with 
<;oarse  insolence.  The  pass'enger  either  bowed 
almost  to  the  ground,  or,  as  the  proverb  hath  it, 
"  whistled  after  you  so  shrilly,  that  the  blood 
seemed  to  freeze  in  your  veins."  Amongst  these 
the  gallant  of  the  city,  fair  and  ruddy,  bustled 
by,  with  cap  on  one  side,  waist  tightly  pinched 
in  by  his  girdle,  ready  "  to  take  you  on  fang  or 
fist,"  seeming  able  to  lay  downhis  life  for  his 
brother,  his  comrade,  his  sweetheart  or  his  coun- 
try, his  Tsar  or  his  religion.  These  shades  of 
Russian  character,  or  the  elTects  of  foreign  in- 
fluence, Aristotle  endeavoured  to  e.xplain  to  his 
companion.  They  were  frequently  met  by  stran- 
gers—Tartars, Jews,  Italians— the  cement  with 
which  Ivan  was  hastily  fixing  his  edifice. 

"  Thou  hast  hitherto  .seen  nought  but  huts  and 
chapels,"  said  Aristotle,  as  much  ashamed  of 
the  meanness  of  the  Russian  capital  as  if  it  had 
been  his  native  city.  "Thou  wilt  see  the  hum- 
ble palace  of  the  Great  Prince,  and  thou  wilt  ask 
— 'Where  then  is  Moscow!'  This  is  my  an- 
swer— Moscow,  the  splendid  capital  of  Ivan,  ex- 
ists as  yet  only  in  his  heart  and  thought.s.  But 
what  he  thinks  is  as  sure  to  be  fulfilled  as  the  de- 
crees of  fate.  I  will  add,  too,  Moscow  existelh 
in  the  artists  whom  thou  broughtest  with  thee, 
and  in  those  who  arrived  before  thee.  Ere  a 
<lozen  years  be  passed  it  shall  be  created,  and 
thou  thyself  shalt  wonder  at  the  metamorphosis. 
Thou  see'st  how  many  foreigners  we  meet  — 
these  are  all  materials'  for  the  future  grandeur 
nnd  magnificence  of  Moscow.  Look,  what  an 
extent  of  houses  and  churches  are  pulled  down 
beyond  the  wall  of  the  Krcml,  and  ininc:ine  how 
strong,  how  invincible  must  be  the  will  of  a  ru- 
ler, who  hath  dared  to  lay  the  hammer  of  destruc- 
tion on  so  much  that  was  ancient,  so  much  thai 
was  holy.     And  what  murmurs  were  exrited  by 

this  innovation  1 The  ignorant  crowd  lookelh 

not  at  future  advantages.  Disturb  but  its  pres- 
ent welfare,  even  for  its  own  good,  and  it  is  dis- 
contented. I  will  tell  thee  what  I  propo.se  to  do 
in  my  plan.  Yoniler,  next  to  thv  lodging,  will 
be  erected  the  gate  of  Flora  and  Laura,  and 
above  it  will  soar  a  magnificent  spire.  Thence 
•will  stretch  a  noble  wall,  girdling  the  middle  of 


ridden  out  of  the  gate,  the  novelty  of  the  objects  i  the  city,  and  decorating  it  with  its  beautiful  tow 
which  surrounded  him,  distracted  his  thoughts  ers.  The  stone  house  of  thy  host,  and  this  other 
from  the  Signorina  Anastasia.  It  mus<  not,  here,  the  dwelling  of  the  Mayor  of  Moscow,  are 
iiowever,  be  concealed,  that  she  had  excited  in  |  but  the  first-born  of  a  great  family,  which  will 
him  a  mysterious  interest,  like  that  raised  by  the  not  delay  to  come  into  the  world."  The  archi- 
heroine  of  some  romance  of  chivalry,  hidden  in    tects  who  came  with  thee,  are  entrusted  with  the 

erection  of  a  splendid  mansion  for  the  reception 
of  ambassadors,  and  of  a  palace  for  the  Great 
Prince.  Add  to  this  a  multitude  of  noble  stone 
churches,  which  are  to  be  built,  and  the  Cathe- 
dral of  the  Annunciation  of  the  Mother  of  God, 
committed  to  my  care.  Thou  see'st  the  enor- 
mous piles  of  materials  which  crowd  the  Kreml 
and  choke  it  up;  and  thou  mayest  calculate 
what  can  be  constructed  out  of  them.  This  is 
only  the  half  of  what  I  am  preparing  for  the  ca- 
thedral. From  these  piles  the  genius  of  Italy  is 
to  erect  an  eternal  monument  to  it.self,  or  a  tro- 
phy of  Art's  defeat  by  the  Material.  Woe  to 
me  if  the  victory  fall  to  the  latter !" 

'■  Far  from  thee  be  the  gloomy  thought.  Nev- 
er be  hope  extinguished  in  thy  soul,  and  may  it 
ever  light  thee  to  thy  future  creation  !" 

"Ay,  away  with  the  gloomy  thought!  .... 
Thou  see'st  these  huts  in  hundreds,  these  church- 
es in  dozens;  they  will  come  down  at  one  word 
from  Iv  n  .  .  .  .  Ah,  my  friend,  'twill  be  a  tem- 
ple, a  real  temple  to  the  Mother  of  God  !  Fu- 
ture generations,  as  they  enter  it,  shall  pronounce 
with  veneration  the  name  of  Fioraventi  Aris- 
totle ....  Yes,  Antonio,  I  shall  survive  in  it." 

"  The  man  who  can  speak  so  ardently  of  the 
future,  contemning  worldly  honour  and  advan- 
tage, must  produce  something  worthy  of  immor- 
tality!" replied  Antony,  with  enthusiasm. 

Long  they  continued  to  discourse  about  the 
splendid  church  —  about  the  commanding  site 
from  which  it  would  overlook  the  whole' city.; 
and  in  this  colloquy  they  rode  up  the  hill  by  ' 
Spasana-b6rou,  from  whence  they  could  obtain 
a  view  over  the  whole  Zaneglinnaia.  Here  the 
glance  of  the  young  man  was  fi.xed  by  two  specks 
which  darted  from  opposite  sides  of  the  Pool  of 
Neglfnnaia.  He  at  last  distinguished  that  these 
were  two  boys.  They  encountered  in  the  midst 
of  the  frozen  pool,  and  instantly  began  a  battle 
with  their  fists.  In  a  few  minutes  there  extend- 
ed along  each  bank  a  line. 

"Ah,  there  will  be  some  sport  I"  cried  Aris- 
totle. "  Presently  thou  shalt  see  a  specimen  of 
our  Russian  gallants." 

"  What  is  this  V  enquired  Ehrenstein. 

"A  party  stru£?glc,"  answered  the  artist  smi- 
ling. "Our  Guelfs  and  Ghibellines.  Thou 
sawest  two  boys  begin  the  combat:  now  these 
two  sparks,  thrown  by  a  powerful  liand,  no 
sooner  come  in  collision,  than  you  may  expect 
a  conflagration.  Ride  we  nearer  to  the  place  oi 
action." 

And  they  hastened  along  the  bank  of  the  pool, 
by  the  .side  of  the  Kreml. 

Both  lines,  consisting  of  children,  were 
charging  ranfr  against  rank  with  tremendouv 
cries^  and  engaged  in  a  pugilistic  battle.  Ths' 
war-cry  on  one  side  wa.s,  Zaneglinniie ;  on  tlio 
other,  iGorfidskiie  (town  boys.)  Behind  them 
were  incessantly  Ibrmed  fresh  lines,  each  com- 
posed of  taller  and  stronger  lads  than  the  prece- 
ding rank;  and  at  length  appeared  chosen  cham- 
pions. The  engagement  grew  general.  They 
fought  in  crowds,  in  lines,  hand  to  hand.  The 
battle  was  hot.  "Warmer  than  ever  in  the 
memory  of  man,"  said  the  old  folks.  The  spec- 
tators, for  the  most  part  people  of  middle  or  ad 
vanced  age,  composed  a  black  ring  on  the  bank^i 


THE   HERETIC. 


49 


of  the  pool.  From  amongst  them  arose  praises 
of  the  victors,  or  reproaches  of  the  conquered. 
One  deserved  the  wreath  of  laurel,  another  the 
whip.  Incessantly  were  heard  cries,  "  Our  side 
hath  it !"  "  B-rave  fellows !"  or  "  Cowards,  cra- 
vens, pock-puddings !"  Only  those  who  were 
grievously  hurt,  wlio  had  fought  away  all  their 
strength,  or  the  youngest,  yielding  their  place  to 
older  or  stronger  combatants,  left  the  ranks  of' 
the  m6lee.  Many  were  seen  to  be  crippled  for 
life,  but  not  one  groan  was  heard.  Even  their 
relation.';,  as  they  led  them  away  from  the  con- 
flict, neither  complained,  nor  exhibited  any  vio- 
lent grief.  They  only  abused  them  as  cowards, 
or  praised  them  as  brave  fellows.  When  they 
had  recovered  from  their  hurts,  they  placed 
themselves  in  the  ranks  of  the  spectators;  and, 
with  them,  took  a  lively  interest  in  their  party, 
with  shouts  of  praise  or  insult. 

The  young  physician,  through  Aristotle,  offer- 
ed his  services  to  those  who  were  hurt.  Instead 
of  answering,  the  fathers  placed  themselves  be- 
tween their  children  and  the  leech,  and  plainly 
refused  his  aid.  They  would  rather  see  them 
(deformed  for  life.  Assuredly,  too,  when  they 
a^ached  home,  they  mixed  Thursday's  salt  and 
■coals  in  water,  wherewith  to  sprinkle  their 
•child,  on  whom  had  glanced  the  evil  eye  of  a 
Ijeretic. 

At  length  the  ranks  of  the  rhcl^e  began  to 
grow  thinner;  the  voices  to  grow  still;  but  it 
would  even  now  have  been  difficult  to  decide 
which  parly  had  won.  All  at  once  there  thun- 
dered along  the  banks  of  the  pool  unanimous 
shouts  of  "Mamon!"  "  Simskoi-Khabar  !"  and 
the  crowd,  as  if  enchanted,  lowered  their  hands 
and  separated.  A  deep,  a  death-like  silence  en- 
sued. 

"  What  fine  fellows  !"  said  Antony  ;  "  if  I  mis- 
take not,  the  face  of  one  of  them  is  known  to  me." 

"  No  wonder.  It  is  the  son  of  thy  host:  he  is 
called  by  the  people,  Khobar!  which  meaneth, 
noinner,  gainer.  Seldom  happeneth  it  that  his 
side  winneth  not  in  the  fist  fight ;  whence  he 
hath  gained  his  title.  To-day  they  have  chosen 
him  a  new  opponent,  and  apparently  a  formida- 
ble one.  Look  !  what  a  powerful,  active  athlete. 
Their  fathers  are  enemies ;  the  &ons  are  now 
antagonists.  But  here,  in  the  ring,  where  they 
meet  for  single  combat,  they  must  throw  aside 
.all  enmity,  all  unfriendly  feeling  towards  each 
•other.  1  must  explain  further,  that  their  blows 
may  only  be  aimed  at  that  part  of  the  body  be- 
tween the  throat  and  the  girdle.  Woe  to"  him 
whose  hand  touches  the  face  of  his  opponent ! 
This,  in  its  way,  is  a  chivalrous  sport:  even 
here  generosity  is  the  device  of  the  combat- 
ants." 

In  reality,  hardly  had  the  fighters  marked  out 
a  ring  beyond  which  they  were  not  to  pass, 
when  the  combatants  took  off  their  caps  and 
bowed  low  on  the  four  sides.  Mamon  could 
distinguish  among  thousands  the  flashing  cyeof 
his  father :  he  saw  nothing  else,  and  heard  on 
the  Neglinnaia  side  a  deep  murmur  of  praise. 
Tittered  by  his  friends.  Simskoi-Khabar  beheld 
his  sire's  calm,  approving  glance;  the  town- 
side  was  as  silent  as  a  wall  of  stone.  The  son 
of  Obrazetz  glanced  up  at  the  hill  of  the  Kreml, 
towards  Spasana-b6rou  ....  There, 
in  a  lofty  bower,  he  beheld  an  open  window, 
and  a  crimson  veil  floating  within  it.  He  knew 
well  whose  hand  had  displayed  that  signal,  and 
ji£  gaily  advanced  to  his  antagonist. 

The  young  men  met,  and  kissed  each  other. 
D 


An  ominous  silence  !  ....  the  thousands 
leared  to  breathe — to  remove  their  eyes  even  for 
an  instant  from  the  spectacle.  Then  the  rivals 
measured  each  other  with  their  eyes  .... 
They  prepared  for  the  encounter.  A  confident 
smile  gl-eamed  on  Khabar's  lips,  while  those  of 
Mamon  seemed  to  quiver  with  a  kind  of  convul- 
sion. 

"Poor  Mamon  !  I  will  wager  a  hundred  to 
one  that  the  son  of  Obrazetz  will  win,"  said  Eh- 
renstein,  warming  more  and  more.  "  Each  mo- 
tion of  his,  even  no*v,  is  as  a  well-poised  sword 
and  a  firm  shield.  O,  that  I  might  cross  my 
good  blade  with  that  active  gallant!" 

"  Gently,  young  leech  !"  replied  Aristotle  ; 
"  thy  blood  speaketh  in  vain.  Thou  hast  forgot- 
ten that  it  is  thy  business  to  heal  wounds,  not  to 
give  them.  To  put  thy  mind  at  rest,  I  will  add, 
here  fighting  with  arms  is  only  permitted  in  trial 
of  battle." 

A  loud  laugh  from  the  people  interrupted  his 
explanation.  It  accompanied  the  fall  of  Ma- 
mon's  son,  who  had  lost  his  balance  while  plant- 
ing a  violent  blow  on  his  opponent;  which  the 
latter  had  dexterously  parried.  Simskoi  did  not 
hesitate  a  moment,  but  offering  his  arm,  he 
raised  him  from  the  ground.  Sullenly  and 
abashed  arose  young  Mamon,  without  so  much 
as  thanking  his  generous  rival.  On  this  occa- 
sion he  showed  himself  the  worthy  son  of  his 
father.  But  the  people  did  not  suffer  this  in- 
gratitude: on  every  side  arose  shouts  of  disap- 
probation. "Foul,  foul!  Bow;  thy  head  will 
not  fall  off!  Bow  !  bow!"  And  young  Mamoa 
was  compelled  to  bend  his  head.  Then  recom- 
menced the  battle.  The  glances  of  each  com- 
batant kept  wakeful  watch  —  followed  each 
slightest  intention — the  faintest  shade  of  will.  A 
hardly  perceptible  movement  of  the  hand,  a  bend 
of  shoulder,  head,  or  knee,  is  a  triumph  or  a  de- 
feat. .Their  thought  in  an  instant  divining  a 
feint  or  even  an  intention,  calculates  the  results, 
profits  by  them,  parries  a  blow,  or  prepares 
against  a  fall.  Pass  but  this  instant,  and  victo- 
ry is  your  antagonist's.  Sudd(.«ily  is  heard  a 
dull  blow;  it  is  echoed  by  the  heart  of  every 
spectator;  and  young  Mamon  falls  like  a  tree, 
hewn  through  at  the  root.  Blood  spouts  from 
his  mouth.  Shouts  of  joy  resound  on  the  towa 
side.  The  murmur  of  the  mill-wheels  repeated, 
as  it  were,  the  cry  of  victory.  The  conqueror 
was  overwhelmed  by  compliments — the  beaten 
man  surrounded  by  his  kinsmen  and  friends, 
who  bore  him  half-dead  home. 

Aristotle  rode  up  to  the  voevoda  Obrazetz.— 
"  What  wouldsf  thou  have  done,"  he  asked  hfm, 
"  if  thy  son  had  not  raised  his  antagonist  1" 

"  What  1  I  would  have  renounced  him  ("re- 
plied the  voevoda ;  and  seeing  his  guest,  he  has- 
tily turned  his  horse  and  galloped  away. 

"A  strange  man,  that  host  of  thine!"  said 
Aristotle  to  his  companion.  "  He  feareth  the 
devil,  like  a  child  frighted  by  its  nurse's  tale. 
He  hateth  those  of  other  religions,  and  counteth 
them  worse  than  any  unclean  animal.  His  en- 
emy on  the  field  of  battle  he  will  unpityingly 
slaughter;  and  yet  his  honour,  his  generosity, 
are  extraordinary.  With  his  own  hands  he 
would  slay  a  soldier  for  plundering  a  prisoner; 
and  he  is  ready  to  slay  his  own  son  if  he  do  any- 
thing which  he  counteth  base." 

"  It  seemeth  I  am  fated  to  know  his  worth  only 
through  others,"  said  Antony  with  some  pique. 
"  If,  however,  my  respacted  friend  could  but 
bring  us  together" 


50 


THE    HERETIC. 


Time— time— and  patience,"  replied  the  art- 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   TRIAL. 

They  entered  the  palace  of  the  Great  Prince. 
At  this  mbment  the  dvoretzkoi,  with  low  rever- 
ences, was  conducting  to  the  door  a  Jew,  who 
appeared  to  have  just  come  out  of  the  interior 
chambers.  The  artist  and  the  leech  were  met 
by  several  courtiers. 

"  Thou  assuredly  desirest  to  know  something 
of  the  faces  that  surround  the  Great  Prince," 
said  Aristotle  to  his  young  companion;  "as 
they  make  their  appearance ;  and  according  to 
their  degree  of  diblinction,  I  will  satisfy  thy  cu- 
riosity. This  man  here,  who  is  conducting  the 
Jew"  .... 

"  The  Russians  shun  even  Christians  that  are 
notof  iheir  faith,  and  3-et  doth  their  lord  associate 
with  a  Jewl"  interrupted  Antony:  "  that  is  right 
strange !" 

"  To  him  every  instrument  is  welcome  that 
can  be  useful,"  replied  the  artist;  "  but  this  Jew 
is  the  confidential  agent  of  the  celebrated  He- 
brew of  Kaffa,  Khozi-Kokos,  who  procured 
Ivan  the  alliance  of  the  Khan  of  the  Crimea; 
and  through  that  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
security  of  Russia.  And  that  slender,  short, 
old  man,  who  is  conducting  him,  is  the  Signor 
Castellano  of  the  Great  Prince — Roussalka,  a 
cralty  fox,  such  as  there  be  few.  Is  it  necessa- 
ry to  the  sovereign  to  reach  any  object  by  a 
somewhat  foul  path,  some  object  useful  to  him- 
self and  to  the  empire — he  maketh  of  his  castel- 
lan a  bridge ;  and  over  that,  wiihout  so  much  as 
dirtying  his  feet,  he  goeth  to  what  he  would.  In 
the  mean  time,  Roussalka  is  bemudded  from 
head  to  heel.  Not  long  ago  he  cooked  up  a 
masterly  dish  of  policy  ;  he  arrested  death  itself 
by  the  bedside  of  the  Prince  of  Vereia,  until  he 
had  time  to  make  a  will  in  favour  of  Ivan  ;  and 
this  will — no  trifle,  ye  must  think — gave  Ivan 
the  towns  of  Yaroslavetz,  Vereia,  Biaylo-ozero, 
which  lay  in  his  dominions  like  a  mote  in  the 
eye.  Ask  not  with  what  instruments  the  opera- 
tion was  performed ;  suffice  it  to  say,  the  mole 
was  removed  from  Russia.  That— is  the  bo- 
yarin  Mamon.  Thou  hast  already  seen  him. 
They  could  not  have  given  him  a  more  appro- 
priate name.  Beware  of  that  serpent,  I  should 
nave  said,  had  he  lurked  beneath  the  rose.  The 
little  creature  next  him  is  the  deacon  Boroddtii, 
the  historian  of  the  Great  Prince's  campaigns. 
His  writings  are  as  luxuriant  as  the  curls  of  his 
head — his  eloquence  as  lengthy  as  his  beard. 
His  heart  is  that  of  a  dove — or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  that  of  a  roasted  apple.  A  day  or  two 
ago,  the  son  of  thy  host  played  him  an  unlucky 
tricif ;  instead  of  conducting'him  home  with  cer- 
emony and  honour,  after  a  drinking-bout  with 
Obrazi^lz  and  himself,  Khabar  swaddled  him  up, 
and  made  him  the  sport  of  the  people.  The 
Gre.Tt  Prince  espoused  with  warmth  the  part  of 
his  deacon;  but  to  the  latter  peace  and  quietness 
are  meat  and  drink,  so  he  determined  at  all 
costs  to  finish  the  motler  peacefully.  The  good 
creature  did  not  hesitate,  but  gave  the  Great 
Prince  a  description  of  the  wonderful  adventures 
of  the  beardie  mannikin.  Ivan  laughed,  and  at 
the  prayer  of  the  deacon,  who  as.sured  him  that 
they  had  not  insulted  him,  but  only  laughed  at 
him,  pardoned  Obrazttz's  son.   Tins  proceeding 


touched  Simskoi :  he  made  a  humble  apology  to 
the  person  he  had  outraged.  It  is  a  pity  Kourit- 
zin  is  not  here:  he  burneih  to  make  acquaint- 
ance with  thee.  He  is  Ivan's  right  hand — a  wise 
and  honest  diplomatist.  To  the  pursuit  of  al> 
stract  science  and  secret  knowledge,  he  had  con- 
secrated some  hours— all  thai  were  lell  him 
from  state  affairs.  But — the  Signor  Castellano 
is  returning  from  the  inner  apartments,  probably 
to  call  us  to  the  Great  Prince's  presence." 

As  he  spoke,  Roussalka  apfiroached  and  in- 
formed theui  that  the  Lord  Great  Prince,  Ivan 
Vassilievitch,  commanded  them  to  "behold  his 
imperial  eyes." 

They  eniered  a  chamber  of  moderate  size. 
Ivan  Vassflievitch,  robed  in  a  splendid  habit, 
was  seated  on  an  ivory  chair,  on  which  the  skil- 
ful and  delicate  chisel  of  Grecian  art  had  repre- 
sented various  events  of  sacred  and  profane  his- 
tory. Up  to  this  throne  was  an  ascent  of  three 
steps,  carpeted  with  cramohy  damask.  At  the 
sides  stood  two  boyarins,  and  next  to  one  of 
them  a  stool,  on  which  was  placed  a  silver  basin 
and  ewer,  together  with  a  line  towel,  delicately 
bordered  with  lace.  Over  the  chair  hung  (he 
portrait  of  a  woman  of  exquisite  beauty.  This 
picture — or,  as  our  ancestors  called  it,  this  Tsa- 
revna,  drmcn  in  a  frame — had  been  sent  to  Mos- 
cow by  Pope  Paul  II.,  at  the  time  when  a  mar- 
riage was  proposed  between  the  Great  Prince 
and  the  daughter  of  Palacologos.  On  two  of 
the  walls  were  fixed  oaken  cupboards  for  plate, 
&c.,  inlaid  with  gold;  in  which,  through  glas.s 
doors,  might  be  seen  silver  cups,  destined,  it 
would  seem,  for  the  use  of  giants.  Add  to  this 
two  stoves  with  Icjdnkas*  ol  Dutch  tiles,  deco- 
rated  with  flowers  and  griffins — a  most  precious 
piece  of  furniture  in  those  days.  On  a  table  be> 
tween  two  windows  was  perched  a  green  parrot 
in  a  pretty  cage — languidly  drooping  its  beak. 

When  Aristotle,  who  on  this  occasion  served 
as  interpreter,  presented  the  physician,  Ivan 
Vassilievitch  fixed  a  penetrating  glance  on  the 
stranger — partially  rose  up  from  his  chair,  and 
extended  his  hand  to  the  physician,  which  the 
latter  kissed,  kneeling  on  one  knee.  Imme- 
diately after  the  Great  Prince  had  been  thus  pol- 
luted by  heretic  lips,  they  presented  the  ewer  and 
basin;  but  the  Prince,  by  a  slight  gesture,  indi- 
cated to  the  boyarin  whose  duty  it  was  to  per- 
form this  service,  that  his  office  was  not  needed. 

"  O,  but  how  young  he  is!"  said  Ivan  to  Aris- 
totle: "he  hath  no  beard." 

"  In  wisdom  and  learning  he  hath  outstripped 
his  years,"  replied  the  artist. 

"  Right !  with  you,  in  warm  countries,  men 
ripen  sooner  than  with  us.  Ay,  there  came  an 
ambassador  from  the  Roman  king — the  knight 
Nicholas  Poppel.  He  was  even  younger  than 
this." 

Then  he  questioned  the  physician  as  to  whether 
he  was  satisfied  with  the  provisions  that  had  been 
sent  him — whether  he  wanted  for  any  thing;  and, 
when  Antony  satisfied  him  on  his  own  account, 
he  l)egan  a  conversation  with  him  about  the  ."^ate 
of  Italy,  the  Pope,  the  political  relations  of  those 
governments,  and  the  opinion  which  they  had  of 
Russia.  His  sensible  questions,  and  occasion- 
ally sensible  answers,  formed  a  singular  contrast 


*  The  stove— thut  niiivernal  aprondaRe  to  it  Ilussian 
iiMim— IS  used  ns  a  )>cd  by  ttio  pcnsaiils.  It  is  ihererorc 
iimslructcil  in  the  rotlnifcs  with  a  kind  of  l)road  plalform, 
atioiit  a  yard  and  a  half  above  the  floor,  on  which  thr  peas- 
niil  sproiids  his  shAuba,  and  sleeps  ;  this  is  called  a  lejanka. 
a  lying-down  place. — T.  B.  S.  ■ 


THE    HERETIC. 


51 


with  the  coarse  forms  of  his  age,  his  character, 
and  country.  Satisfied  with  Ehrenstein's  replies, 
he  more  than  once  repeated  to  Aristotle,  with 
evident  delight— "Thou  art  right:  he  is  of  the 
youngest;  but  he  is  early  wise."  At  length  he 
"turned  the  conversation  to  Antony's  methods  of 
cure. 

"  How  dost  thou  discover  what  aileth  a  man  V 
he  enquired,  turning  to  the  physician. 

"  By  what  the  pulse  of  the  arm  of  itself  inform- 
eth  us,  and  by  the  appearance  of  the  tongue,"  re- 
plied Ehrenstein. 

"Of  that  we  will  make  instant  trial,"  said 
Ivan  V"as^^lievitch,  and  gave  command  that  all 
the  courtiers  should  immediately  hasten  to  the 
chamber  of  audience. 

They  all  entered,  one  afier  the  other,  pale, 
trembling,  expecting  something  terrible  from 
the  suddenness  of  the  order.  They  were  com- 
manded to  stand  in  a  single  line,  to  open  their 
mouths,  and  to  hold  out  their  hands.  Even  here 
was  preserved  the  order  of  precedence,  which 
had  been  shortly  before  introduced,  and  was 
strictly  enforced.  At  this  inspectorial  parade,  it 
was  droll  to  behold  the  terror  painted  on  their 
long  faces:  they  could  not  have  been  in  a  less 
fright,  if  they  had  been  preparing  to  undergo  an 
operation.  It  was  hardly  possible  to  refrain 
from  laughing  at  the  singular  collection  of 
grimaces  offered  by  the  poor  patients,  as  they 
protruded  their  tongues  and  held  out  their  hands. 
One,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  lolled  forth  his 
Jongue,  lilce  a  calf  which  they  are  preparing  to 
slaughter:  that  of  another  trembled,  like  the 
fork  of  a  serpent :  a  third  opened  his  mouth 
wide,  like  a  jaded  horse  when  it  yawns.  The 
physician  himself  laughed  in  spite  of  all  he 
could  do.  When  the  unfortunate  wretches  were 
informed  that  there  was  to  be  an  inspection  into 
the  state  of  their  health,  in  many  of  them  the 
thought  of  being  enchanted  by  the  German  sor- 
cerer, acted  so  violently  as  to 'throw  them  into  a 
fever:  others  hardly  escaped  a  different  disor- 
der. They  muttered  all  the  prayers  they  knew  : 
some,  notwithstanding  the  glance  of  Ivan  was 
fixed  upon  them  with  all  its  electric  terror,  were 
forced  by  despair  to  cry  aloud — "Lord,  have 
mercy  upon  us !"  "  Lord,  let  thy  servant  depart 
in  peace  !"  Antony  made  an  inspection  of  each ; 
to  each,  through  the  medium  of  Aristotle,  he  put 
the  questions  enjoined  by  his  science ;  and  he 
broke  the  chains  of  each  in  turn,  with  the  sen- 
tence— that  he  was  well,  and  in  need  of  no  medi- 
cine whatever.  "The  nightingale  ceased  its 
song,  but  still  they  listened  on;"  that  is  to  say, 
the  leech  left  off  his  examination,  but  all  the 
patients  continued  to  hold  out  their  tongues  and 
extend  their  shaking  fists.  The  sovereign  was 
obliged  to  order  that  both  the  one  member  and 
the  other  should  be  restored  to  its  ordinary  posi- 
tion. What  sprinklings  of  holy  water — what 
exorcisms  awaited  them  at  home!  Terror  long 
held  these  suffering  worthies  in  its  claws;  but 
stronger  than  all  it  agitated  Borodiitii  and— who 
would  have  thought  it  1 — Mam6n.  For  this  rea- 
son, Antony  wished  to  make  some  sport  with 
them,  and  particularly  with  Mam6n,  for  whom 
he  felt  an  aversion. 

"  One  hath  no  bile  at  all,"  he  said ;  "  the  other 
too  much.  In  lime,  this  superabundance  and 
this  deficiency  may  cause  them  a  serious  ill- 
ness." 

"And  is  there  no  remedy  for  thisl"  asked 
Ivan  Vassilievitch. 

"Yea,  my  lord;  by  transfusing  the  blood  of 


one  into  the  veins  of  the  other,"  answered  An- 
tony. 

Mam6n's  lips  turned  white,  and  trembled;  the 
tiny  deacon's  beard  absolutely  jumped. 

"Jest  not  with  the  prince,"  said  Aristotle  to 
his  young  friend:  "would  it  be  wonderful  if  he 
should  desire  to  make  trial  of  this  horrible 
method  on  his  boyarins  V 

"  But,"  continued  the  leech,  "  the  remedy 
which  I  have  hinted  at  demandeth  great  cau- 
tion, and  is  therefore  perilous.  In  his  lajt  ill- 
ness. Pope  Innocent  VIII.  desired  to  have  re- 
course to  it.  The  experiment  was  first  tried  on 
three  boys  of  ten  years  old;  but  as  the  trial  did 
not  at  all  succeed,  and  the  boys  died,  the  holy 
father  would  not  consent  to  submit  to  it.  All 
that  can  be  done,  therefore,  is  for  the  person 
who  hath  a  superabundance  of  bile  to  be  as 
quiet  and  tranquil  as  possible;  and  for  him  who- 
hath  a  deficiency,  to  stir  his  blood  by  more  fre- 
quent exercise." 

The  Great  Prince  seemed  much  plea.'^ed  with 
the  knowledge  and  explanations  of  the  ph3'-si- 
cian :  for  which  reason  he  gave  an  order  to  Ma- 
men  that  all  inhabitants  of  Moscow  afiiicted 
with  any  disease,  should  without  delay  present 
themselves  to  the  court  leech,  or  send  for  him  to 
show  him  their  tongue  and  hold  out  their  hand. 
For  the  disobedient,  a  penalty  was  added. 

"  To  business !  I  have  in  my  house  a  pa- 
tient." said  Ivan  Vassilievitch  :  "  canst  thou  cure 
himr 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  approached  the 
parrot.  The  winged  flutterer  was  really  sick: 
a  film  was  on  his  tongue.  Ivan  Vassilievitch 
showed  him  to  the  physician,  adding,  that  Pho- 
minishna  was  very  fond  of  him. 

Antony  blushed,  and  was  hesitating  whether 
to  refuse  to  perform  the  fantastical  desire  of  the 
Great  Prince;  "but  induced  by  a  look  from 
Aristotle,  and  by  the  thought,  that  to  a  woman — 
a  weak,  lender  creature — her  pet  is  very  dear,  he 
replied — "  We  must  see  his  tongue  too." 

"N6vgorod  and  the  Horde  we  have  man- 
aged," said  the  Great  Prince;  "but  here  what 
are  we  to  dol  The  bird  is  not  large;  but  we 
cannot  make  him  do  what  doth  not  please  him. 
Perhaps  he  will  obey  the  Great  Princess,  whom 
he  loveth  much." 

"  Love  is  ever  stronger  than  power !"  exclaim- 
ed Antony,  inspired  by  the  nobleness  of  his  char- 
acter, and  his  wish  to  commence  the  part  of  a 
friend  to  humanity,  and  counsellor  to  the  Tsar, 
which  his  dreams  had  painted  in  such  brilliant 
colours. 

It  might  be  thought,  judging  by  the  character 
of  Ivan,  that  the  artist  did  not  venture  to  trans- 
late this  apoplhegm  of  the  incautious  young 
man  :  but,  on  the  contrary,  he  interpreted'it  ex- 
actly to  the  prince.  Aristotle,  on  this  occasion, 
well  understood  the  Great  Prince  as  posterity 
knew  him,  when  it  reproached  VassJlii  Ivano- 
vitch  with  being  unlike  his  father  in  this  respect 
— viz.  that  the  latter  "  laved  to  'tiveei  with  opposi- 
tion, and  favoured  those  who  coiitradicled  him." 
We  mustremark,  however,  that  he  loved  oppo- 
sition in  words,  but  not  in  deeds. 

"  Is  it  so,  fair  youth  1"  cried  the  Great  Prince, 
laughing;  "look  ye;  the  parrot,  though  more 
reasonable  than  other  birds,  is  yet,  notwithstand- 
ing, caged ;  which  provelh  that  he  is  not  com- 
pletely reasonable.  'Tis  you,  Germans,  who 
imprisoned  him.  As  for  me,  love  and  gentle- 
ness are  excellent  where  all  are  children  of  one 
united,  harmonious  family,  so  reasonable  that 


52 


THE    HERETIC. 


they  understand  the  will  of  the  father.  '  He  de- 
sireih  of  u.^  peace  and  order,'  they  say,  '  for  our 
own  good;'  but  what  wilt  thou  say,  good  youth, 
if,  in  the  parent's  absence,  the  prodigal  children 
depart  from  their  sire's  house — if  each,  at  his 
own  pleasure,  fenceih  off  a  portion  of  their  com- 
mon inheritance — if  they  will  neither  hear  nor 
obey  their  mother — if  they  even  rage  against  her 
•who  gave  them  food  and  drink  1  The  father's 
house  is  on  fire — no  man  cometh  to  extinguish 
it;  robbers  come  and  plunder  it — the  children 
laugh.  The  sire  cometh — how  is  he  to  curb 
them,  unite  them,  bring  them  to  order  1  By 
gentleness,  ihink  ye?  ...  .  The  mother  had 
tried  that  alreatly  ....  No !  by  wisdom  and 
power,  by  strength  of  soul.  But  when  the  father 
hath  brought  back  the  children  to  obedience,  and 
they  feel  their  fault— will  not  love  then  bring 
back  peace  on  every  side  1  It  may  be  so :  but 
we  have  not  yet  come  to  that,  nor  shall  we  soon 
come  to  it.  Is  it  not  true,  Aristotle"?  Thou 
knowest  our  people  better." 

Aristotle,  pleased  with  the  wise  words  of  the 
Great  Prince,  confirmed  his  assertions,  like  a 
master  who  is  well  contented  by  the  answers  of 
a  clever  pupil  at  an  examination.  As  if  for  a 
demonstration  of  his  argument,  the  Sovereign 
seized  the  parrot  by  the  head,  and  skilfully  held 
it,  while  the  bird  submitted  to  the  magic'terror 
of  his  eye.  The  film  was  successfully  removed 
by  the  leech. 

The  cure  of  the  parrot,  and  the  examination 
of  the  courtiers,  did  not  conclude  the  trial  of  the 
physician.  The  Great  Prince  commanded  him 
and  Aristotle  to  wait  in  the  middle  izba.  Half 
an  hour  had  not  elapsed  ere  he  came  out  to 
them  in  a  shouba  and  bonnet,  and  with  a  wave 
of  his  staff  invited  them  to  follow  him. 

At  the  Red  Stairs  was  standing  a  fapkan  (a 
covered  winter  sledge,)  to  which  were  harnessed 
two  sannUa  (so  they  called  horses  in  their  win- 
:er  capari.son.)  The  pads  were  of  velvet,  the 
rings  and  plates  on  the  pads  and  bridles  were 
gilded.  All  this  had  been  sent  from  Lithuania. 
The  horses  were  driven  by  a  postilion,  riding  on 
one  of  them.  When  Ivun  Vassilievitch  was 
helped  into  the  tapkan,  which  might  be  recog- 
nized as  the  Great  Prince's  by  the  double-headed 
eagle  fixed  on  the  front,  some  of  the  guards  rode 
before  it,  crying— "Make  way,  make  way!" 
Six  of  the  soldiers  rode  at  the'  sides,  guarding 
every  moment  the  equipage  from  overbalancing, 
and  supporting  it  with  their  bodies  at  ever>'  steep 
declivity;  even  a  small  inclination  was  danger- 
ous, as  the  horses  were  harnessed  to  the  carriage 
only  by  traces,  and  without  a  pole,  (remark  that 
the  pole  wa.s  considered  by  our  ancestors  as  an 
-'•cursed  thing.)  A  number  of  boyurins  rode 
behino,  among  whom  were  the  artist  and  the 
physician.  They  went  at  a  fool's  pace;  the 
moment  that  the  lotjd  cry — "  Make  way,  make 
way !"  was  heard,  all  who  were  passing  in  ih? 
street  took  off  their  caps  and  prostrated  them- 
selves on  the  ground. 

"This  slavish  custom,"  said  Aristotle  to  his 
young  comrade,  "  was  brought  hither,  with 
many  similar  ones,  from  the  Tartans.  Their 
dommalion  corroded  this  country,  as  it  were, 
with  a  strong  rust;  and  the  Russians  will  be 
long  ere  they  wipe  it  off.  Thus,  the  conquered 
—even  in  spite  of  themselves— acquire  the  char- 
acter of  the  conquerors,  notwithstanding  the 
haired  they  feel  towards  them." 

'I  Happy  is  the  conquered,"  replied  Ehren- 
slem,  '•  il  his  new  master  stand  upon  a  higher 


step  of  civilization  than  himself.  W->e  to  him 
if  he  fall  under  the  rule  of  such  as  a  Tartar '. 
What  cannot  force  do  1" 

"  'Tis  a  pity  that  even  what  is  good,  even  ea- 
lightenment,  can  only  be  infused  into  a  rude 
people  by  a  wise  violence  and  an  inflexible  will ; 
for  this  mass  is  indispensable  to  a  vigorous  ruler 
like  him  who  is  now  riding  before  us.  I  coun- 
sel thee,  my  friend,  to  act  for  the  good  of  hu- 
manity in  this  country  no  otherwise  than  through 
this  powerful  conductor." 

"  Ay,  thou  and  I  have  made  a  noble  begin- 
ning of  our  achievements,"  interrupted  Antony, 
in  a  tone  of  irony;  "thou,  preparing  to  erect  a 
wondrous  temple  to  the  Mother  of  God,  burnest 
bricks  and  mixest  mortar;  and  I,  though  not, 
like  thee,  endowed  with  divine  gifts,  yet  arriving 
here  from  a  distant  country  to  cast  my  mite  into 
the  treasury  of  science,  I  ....  I  cure  parrots' 
tongues,  and  feel  the  pulses  of  a  crowd  of  court- 
ly slaves  !  Truly  the  beginning  doth  not  prom- 
ise much." 

"  Antonio — Antonio  !  Is  it  thou  that  speakest 
thus  ....  But  two  days  here— thy  work  not 
yet  begun,  and  already  thy  young  blood  rebel- 
leth  against  reason:  the  least  inconvenience 
driveth  thee  far  from  thy  noble  aim.  Is  it  thus 
men  go  to  combat  for  a  crown  of  victory  !  What 
wouldst  thou  have  said,  hadst  thou  been  in  my 
place  ?  .  .  .  Have  I  been  deceived  in  thee  1  .  .  . 
Be  that  as  it  may,  I  recognize  no  more  in  thee 
than  that  firm  soul  that  was  but  lately  ready  to 
battle  with  Destiny  itself!" 

"  I  confess  my  fault,  my  noble  friend  !  I  con- 
fess it.  My  mind  still  requireth  support;  my 
education  is  not  yet  finished.  O,  be  thou  my 
guide,  my  preceptor!  Pardon  my  thoughtless 
words,  and  attribute  them  to  the  new  impres- 
sions of  these  two  days.  The  execution  of  the 
Lithuanians — my  host's  causeless  haired — the 
esirangement  of  almost  all  the  Muscovites,  when 
I  loved  them  beforehand  so  warmly — the  parrot 
— the  courtiers — the  servility — all  this  hath  turn- 
ed my  head." 

"  I  warned  thee  that  thou  wouldst  find  thyself 
amidst  an  infant  people,  ihat  thou  wouldst  be 
near  the  ruler  of  this  people — a  man  great  in 
many  respects,  but  still  belonging  to  his  country 
and  epoch;  and  even  now — I  will  tell  thee  be- 
forehand— we  are  riding  to  the  prison.  I  am 
sure  he  wisheth  to  show  thee  his  distinguished 
captives.  This  time,  thou  must  pardon  him  as 
a  ruler  who  desirelh  to  show  triumphantly  how 
he  hath  succeeded,  by  force  of  his  own  mind,  in 
binding  with  chains  the  terrible  foes  who  so  long 
kept  Russia  in  discord  and  alarm.  He  is  a 
Hercules,  but  still  an  infant  Hercules.  He  re- 
joiceth  that  even  in  his  cradle  he  hath  strangled 
.serpents;  and  he  delighteth  in  exhibiting  them 
dead  or  dying.  I  will  add,  remember  the  time 
in  which  we  live,  the  country  in  which  we  are 
.  .  .  .  Remember  the  head  of  our  own  church, 
P.aul  II.,  who  presided  in  person  at  the  torture: 
remember  Sixtus  IV.,  Sleiihen  of  Moldavia, 
called  his  .son,  who  made  cripples  of  his  prison- 
ers; Galeazzo  Sfor/a,  ...  I  will  ?ay  ho  more. 
These  examples  are  enough  to  pacify  thy  dis^ 
pleasure  at  the  spectacle  which  awaitefh  thee." 
Aristotte  had  scarcely  time  to  say  this,  when- 
the  tnphiin  entered  the  Court  of  the  Prisons. 
The  railings,  bristling  with  spikes,  rendered  un- 
necessary'  any  furtlier  defence  of  this  place. 
The  guards  leaped  from  their  horses,  and  the 
gloomy  hold  was  opened  in  an  instant.  At  the 
fool  of  the  sleos  leading  to  the  prison,  they  as- 


THE    HERETIC. 


53 


sisted  the  Great  Prince  to  descend  from  the  tap- 
kan ;  the  sentinels  were  all  in  motion.  They 
consisted  of  guards  who  had  kissed  the  cross  as  a 
pledge  of  the  faithful  performance  of  their  duty. 
At  the  sight  of  the  Great  Prince  they  grasped 
their  battle-axes,  drew  themselves  up,  took  off 
their  caps,  and  made  a  low  obeisance.  In  the 
hall  the  penetrating  glance  of  Ivan  seemed  to 
mark  every  thing  at  once.  Further  on,  when 
he  entered  the  narrow  passages,  his  eyes  gleam- 
ed with  a  savage  joy ;  he  felt  like  the  master  of 
a  menagerie,  who  is  proud  to  show  to  worthy 
visitors  the  fierce  animals  he  has  caught  and 
keeps  in  cages ;  and,  indeed,  the  cells  in  which 
the  prisoners  were  confined  resembled  nothing 
so  much  as  filthy  dens. 

"Aristotle,"  said  the  Great  Prince,  "explain 
to  our  court  leech  what  fowl  are  sitting  in  these 
coops;  and  let  him  examine  them,  to  see  how 
lung  they  will  live.  The  Tartars,  thou  wottest, 
I  must  in  any  case  keep  for  the  future.  It  may 
chance  we  may  have  to  frighten  others  with 
them.  And  the  woman,  thou  knowest,  is  even 
now  '  a  sheep  for. the  devil.' "  .  .  .  . 

This  plain  explanation,  translated  by  Aristotle 
to  Antony,  promised  the  latter  an  opportunity  of 
beginning  the  labours  of  benevolence,  for  which 
he  had  been  preparing  himself  as  he  travelled  to 
Moscow.  In  the  first  apartment  they  found  a 
whole  family  of  Tartars.  Men  and  women — 
mothers  and  children — hu^bands  and  wives — all 
■were  piled  pell-mell,  some  on  benches,  others  on 
the  ground.  The  filth  and  stench  were  insup- 
portable. Their  pale  livid  faces,  their  downcast 
haggard  look,  described  their  miserable  condi- 
tion more  eloquently  than  words. 

"Wouldst  thou  "believe  it,"  said  Aristotle, 
"that  yonder  lean  wretch  with  saffron  eyes,  who 
hath  just  arisen  before  the  Great  Prince,"  was  the 
Tsar  of  Kazan,  Aleghaml  His  kingdom,  not 
long  since,  was  formidable  to  Russia — a  few 
months  past,  a  Muscovite  general  took  him  pris- 
oner, and  placed  another  Tsar  on  his  throne. 
Admire  here  the  vicissitudes  of  human  destiny. 
Not  long  ago  he  ruled  a  mighty  kingdom,  and 
now  he  hath  not  where  to  lay  his  head.  To  the 
ancestors  of  these  Tartars  the  Russian  princes 
paid  homage — from  them  they  begged  permission 
to  reign,  they  held  their  stirrup,  they  paid  tribute 
to  them.  But  now  .  .  .  .  O,  surely,  kings  ought 
to  come  hiter  to  learn  humility!  But  ....  such 
is  the  blindness  of  man — thou  seest  with  what 
triumph  the  Great  Prince  beholdeth  his  prison- 
er. His  liberation  cannot  be — ought  not  to  be 
thought  of  The  entreaties  of  the  Princes  of 
Shibai  and  Nogai,  his  kinsmen,  have  had  no 
success.  There  have  been  many  discussions  on 
this  subject  with  Ivan,  in  which  they  sent  one 
another  heavy  compliments  and  light  gifts.  But 
the  only  gainer  in  this  intercourse  "was  Ivan. 
He  discovered  the  weakness  of  the  Tartar  prin- 
ces, and  perhaps  found  among  them  enemies  to 
themselves.  I  know  no  ruler  who  so  well 
knoweth  how  to  take  advantage  of  circumstan- 
ces; 1  said  that  Alegham's  liberation  was  a 
thing  not  to  be  thought  of;  but,  from  what  Ivan 
himself  hath  hinted,  I  think  we  may  endeavour 
to  belter  his  condition." 

Conforming  himself  to  this  hint,  the  young 
physician  said — "  If  the  Great  Prince  desire  that 
his  royal  prisoner  should  live,  he  must  transfer 
him  with  his  family  to  a  better  and  more  spa- 
cious habitation,  and  give  him  the  opportunity 
of  breathing  fresh  air.  If  this  be  not  done,  I  can- 
not answer  for  his  life  lasting  more  than  a  few 
•weeks." 


Ivan  Vassflievitch  became  thoughtful — "Ay, 
this  man  is  still  necessary  to  me,"  he  continued 
half  aloud;  and  ordered  Mamon,  who  under- 
stood the  Tartar  language,  as  did  many  Rus- 
sians in  those  days,  to  inform  Alegham  that  he 
would  immediately  send  him  with  his  two 
wives  to  Vologda,  and  his  mother,  brothers, 
and  sisters,  to  Kargopol,  on  the  Biaylo-Ozero. 
"  There,"  added  he,  "  he  may  walk  about  as  he 
pleaseth.  I  will  allow  him  for  his  subsistence  a 
pittance  of  two  allincs*  a  day." 

When  this  was  interpreted  to  Alegham,  the 
Tsar  of  Kazan  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the 
Great  Prince :  his  example  was  followed  by  all  his 
family,  except  one  of  his  wives.  She  was  about 
to  catch  him  by  his  robe,  to  restrain  him  from 
this  slavish  expression  of  gratitude,  and  cried 
out  with  indignation — "  What  wouldst  thou  do, 
Tsar  of  Kazan !"  But  Alegham  was  already  at 
Ivan's  feet,  and  the  Tsarina  threw  upon  her  hus- 
band a  glance  of  profound  contempt. 

This  woman  afterwards  became  the  wife  of 
Tsar  Makhmet  Amin  :  she  remembered  the  hu- 
miliation of  her  first  husband,  and  succeeded  in 
exciting  her  second  against  Ivan. 

A  new  apartment— Again  remarkable  prison- 
ers— again  Tartars — again  proofs  of  Ivan's  wis- 
dom and  firmness,  by  which  he  had  tranquillized 
the  East.  Shut  up  here  were  two  brothers;  one 
a  hoary-headed  old  man,  the  other  of  an  age  bor- 
dering on  that  of  his  companion.  Seated  side 
by  side,  with  their  hands  twined  round  each  oth- 
er's neck,  they  were  gazing  one  another  in  the 
face.  In  that  they  beheld  their  country,  their 
heaven,  their  kinsmen,  and  their  frieiids— all 
that  was  most  precious — that  was  lost  to  them 
for  ever.  In  this  attitude  the  Great  Prince  found 
them.  Confused,  they  untwined  their  embrace, 
and  remained  seated. 

"Thou  wouldst  have  guessed  that  these  two 
are  brothers,  even  if  I  had  not  informed  thee," 
said  Aristotle;  "scions  of  that  mighty  power 
which  wellnigh  overwhelmed  Russia,  and  was 
thus  diverted  from  Europe.  In  fact,  these  are 
the  brothers  of  Mengli-Ghirei,  Khan  of  the  Cri- 
mea, and  best  friend  and  ally  of  Ivan.  They 
are  Nordooulat  and  Aidar." 

"  Friend — ally  V  enquired  Antony  with  aston-, 
ishment ;  "how  reconcile  that  with  their  impris- 
onment"?" 

"  I  will  tell  thee  more.  Nordooulat,  the  grey- 
haired  man,  who  is  gazing  so  bitterly  at  the 
Great  Prince,  served  him  in  the  war  against  the 
Great  or  Golden  Horde,  and  its  Tsar  Akhmet — 
a  war  in  which  was  decided  the  question,  wheth- 
er Russia  was  or  was  not  to  be  the  slave  of  the 
East;  whether  a  new  deluge  of  barbarians  was 
to  pour  into  Europe;  but"  .... 

Here  was  heard  the  imploring  voice  of  Andri- 
ousha,  Aristotle's  son.  Without  being  remark- 
ed, he  had  suddenly  made  his  way  to  the  side  of 
the  Great  Prince,  who  was  caressingly  stroking 
his  head. 

"Make  me  a  present,  Ivan  Vassilievitcb,  of 
these  two  poor  old  men,"  said  Andriousha,  fond- 
lin?  the  stern  ruler. 

The  Great  Prince  laughed,  and  asked  the  boy 
what  he  would  do  with  the  prisoners. 

"I  will  give  them  their  liberty,  that  they  may 
bless  thy  name,"  replied  Andriousha. 

"I  grant  it.  Give  these  two  their  freedom," 
said  Ivan  Vassilievitcb,  turning  to  Mamon; 
"and   send   them   to   Vologda.     Appoint   them 


*  Russian  money  was  anciently  counted  by  "oWi'ne*;" 
each  altine  contained  three  kopeks. — T.  B.  S, 


54 


THE    HERETIC. 


there  an  ample  maintenance.  This  I  do  for  the 
sake  of  my  son's  godson." 

The  intelligent  boy  took  care  to  beg  nothing 
more. 

The  artist  and  the  physician  thought  that  the 
Great  Prince  had  decided  on  this  generous  con- 
duct in  consequenue  of  overhearing  their  con- 
versation, and  subdued  by  the  eloquent  sorrow 
of  Nordooi'ilat,  once  his  faithful  servant.  Aris- 
totle, however,  was  not  surprised  when  the 
Great  Prince  took  him  aside,  and  added  in  a  low 
voice — 

"It  was  opportunely  that  Andriousha  spoke 
for  them :  the  Khan  of  the  Golden  Horde  en- 
treateth  me,  through  his  ambassador,  to  send 
Nordooulat  to  him.  Methinks  thou  must  have 
met  of  late  an  accursed  Hebrew  at  my  palace. 
That  same  Hebrew  hath  filched  from  the  Khan's 
ambassador  a  letter  to  Nordooiilat,  and  hath  suc- 
ceeded in  replacing  it  unperceived.  Even  with- 
out a  written  letter,  I  should  have  straightway 
guessed  their  cunning  plots.  My  friend  Mengli- 
Ghirei  wellnigh  got  himself  into  the  wolf's 
mouth— Coward!  he  feared  the  threats  of  the 
Golden  Horde,  and  sent  to  implore  me  to  liber- 
ate his  brother,  with  whom  he  meaneth  to  reign 
conjointly.  But  I  will  show  him  he  is  wrong; 
and  he  himself  will  hereafter  be  glad  at  what  I 
have  done.  The  King  of  Poland  inviteth  Ai- 
dar;  Nordooulat  is  clever;  Aidar  is  not,  but 
dangerous  notwithstanding.  My  foes  have  plot- 
ted craftily:  in  open  daylight  they  would  set  a 
trap  in  sight  of  the  fox.  I  will  show  them  my 
tail:  What!  are  we  fools?     We  can  count  five 

on  our  fingers In  Mengli-Ghirei  I  have 

a  faithful  friend,  and  he  will  do  as  I  would  have 
liim.  They  desire  me  to  put  in  his  place  a  man 
inore  fierce  and  clever;  I  shall  have  them  safer 
at  Vologda,  where  they  can  receive  no  more  let- 
ters, and  will  never  behold  the  Tartar's  crafty 
face;  but  still  I  will  keep  my  word  to  Andriou- 
sha—at  Vologda  they  shall  be  free." 

These  words,  when  translated  to  Antony,  sat- 
isfactorily explained  the  Tsar's  object  in  keep- 
ing in  prison  the  brothers  of  Mengli-Ghirei,  the 
friend  and  ally  of  Ivan,  and  found  in  the  young 
man's  heart  an  excuse  for  his  tortuous  policy. 
;    A  new  apartment. 

Here  the  Great  Prince  rapped  with  his  staff  at 
a  grating;  at  the  knock  there  looked  out  an  old 
woman,  who  was  fervently  praying  on  her 
knees.  She  was  dressed  in  a  much-worn  high 
cap,  and  in  a  short  veil,  poor,  but  white  as  new- 
fallen  snow;  her  silver  hair  streamed  over  a 
threadbare  mantle :  It  was  easy  to  guess  that 
this  was  no  common  woman.  Her  features 
were  very  regular,  in  her  dim  eyes  was  express- 
ed intellect,  and  a  kind  of  stern  greatness  of  soul. 
She  looked  proudly  and  steadily  at  the  Great 
Prince. 

"  For  whom  wert  thou  praying,  Marphoushal" 
asked  the  sovereign. 

"  For  whom  but  for  the  dead!"  she  sullenly 
replied. 

"But  for  whom  in  particular,  if  I  may  make 
bold  to  ask  V 

"Ask  concerning  that  of  my  child,  thou  son 
of  a  dog— of  him  who  was  called  thy  brother, 
whom  thou  murdennlst — of  Novgorod,  which 
thou  hast  drowned  in  blood  and  covered  with 
ashes!" 

"  O,  ho,  ho!  ...  .  Thou  hast  not  forgotten  thy 
folly,  then— Lady  of  Novgorod  the  Great." 

"  I  was  such  once,  my  fair  lord  !" 

Al  these  words  she  arose. 


"  Wilt  thou  not  think  again  1" 

"  Of  what  1  ....  I  said  that  I  was  praying  for 
the  dead.  Thy  Moscow,  with  all  its  hoveU,  can 
twice  a-year  be  laid  in  ashes,  and  twice  built  up 
again.     The  Tartar  hath  held  it  two  ages  m 

slavery It  pined,  it  pined  away,  and  yet 

it  remains  whole.  It  hath  but  changed  one  bon- 
dage for  another.  But  once  destroy  the  queen — 
Novgorod  the  Great — and  Novgorod  the  Great 
will  perish  for  ever." 

"How  canst  thou  tell  thatl" 

"Can  ye  raise  up  a  city  of  hewn  stone  in  a 
hundred  years  1" 

"  I  will  raise  one  in  a  dozen." 

"  Ay,  but  this  is  not  in  the  fairj'  tale,  where 
'tis  done  as  soon  as  said.  Call  together  the 
Hanse  traders  whom  thou  hast  driven  away." 

"  Ha,  hucksteress !  thou  mournest  for  the  tra- 
ders more  than  for  N6vgorod  itself." 

"By  my  huckstering  she  grew  not  poor,  but 
rich." 

"  Let  me  but  jingle  a  piece  of  money,  and 
straight  will  fly  the  merchants  from  all  corners 
of  the  world,  greedy  for  my  grosches." 

"  Recall  the  chief  citizens  whom  thou  hast  ex- 
iled to  thy  towns." 

"Cheats,  knaves,  rebels!  they  are  not  worth. 
this!" 

"  When  was  power  in  the  wrong'?  Where  is 
the  Waaler  of  life  that  can  revive  those  thou  ha«t 
slain  ?  Even  if  thou  couldst  do  all  this,  liberty, 
liberty  would  be  no  more  for  N6vgorod,  Ivaa 
Vassllievitch;  and  N6vgorod  will  never  rise 
again!  It  may  live  on  awhile  like  lighted  flax, 
that  neither  flameth  nor  goeth  out,  even  as  I  live 
in  a  dungeon!" 

"It  is  thine  inflexible  obstinacy  that  hath  ru- 
ined both  of  ye.  I  should  like  to  have  seen  how 
thou  wouldst  have  acted  in  my  place." 

"Thou  hast  done  thv  work.  Great  Prince  of 
Moscow,  I  —  mine.  Triumph  not  over  me,  in 
my  dungeon,  at  my  last  hour." 

"Marpba  Bor^tzkaia  coughed,  and  her  face 
grew  livid:  she  applied  the  end  of  her  veil  to 
her  lips,  but  it  was  instantly  stained  with  blood, 
and  Ivan  remarked  this,  though  she  endeavoured 
to  conceal  it. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  MaiT>ha,"  said  the  Great 
Prince  in  a  compassionate  tone. 

"Sharp  is  thy  glance What!   doth  it 

delight  thee  1  .  .  .  .  Spread    this   kerchief  over 

N6vgorod 'Twill  be  a  rich  pall!"  ....  she 

added,  with  a  smile. 

"  Let  me  in !  let  me  in !  ....  I  cannot  bear  it 
.  .  .  .  Let  me  go  in  to  her!"  cried  Andrifiusha, 
bursting  into  tears. 

On  the  Great  Prince's  countenance  was  min- 
gled compassion  and  vexation.  He,  however, 
lifted  the  latch  of  the  door,  and  let  the  son  of 
Aristotle  pass  in  to  Boretzkaia. 

Andrea  kissed  her  hand.  Boretzkaia  uttered 
not  a  word;  she  mournfully  shook  her  head,  and 
her  warm  tears  fell  upon  the  boy's  face. 

"Ask  him  how  many  years  she  can  live,"  said 
the  Great  Prince  to  Aristotle,  in  a  whisper. 

"It  is  much,  much,  if  she  live  three  months; 
but,  perhaps,  'twill  be  only  till  spring,"  answered 
Antony.  "  No  medicine  can  save  her :  that  blood 
is  a  sure  herald  of  death." 

This  reply  was  translated  to  Ivan  Vassilicvitch 
in  as  low  a  tone  as  possible,  that  Boretzkaia 
might  not  hear  it ;  but  she  waved  her  hand,  and 
said  c:ilmtv— "  I  knew  it  long  ngo"  .... 

"  Hearken,  Marpha  Isakovna ;  if  thou  wilt,  I 
will  give  thee  thy  liberty,  and  send  thee  into  an- 
other town." 


THE    HERETIC. 


55 


"Another  town  ....  another  place  ....  God 
hath  willed  it  so  without  thee!" 

"  I  would  send  thee  to  Bayjetzkoi-Verkh." 

"  'Tis  true,  that  was  our  country.  If  I  could 
but  die  in  my  native  land  !" 

"Then  God  be  with  thee:  there  thou  mayest 
say  thy  prayers,  give  alms  to  the  churches.  I 
•will  order  thy  treasury  to  be  delivered  up  to  thee 
— and  remember  not  the  Great  Prince  of  Mos- 
cow in  anger." 

She  smiled.  Have  ye  ever  seen  something 
resembling  a  smile  on  the  jaws  of  a  human  skull  1 

"Farewell,  we  shall  never  meet  again,"  said 
the  Great  Prince. 

"  We  shall  meetat  the  judgment-seat  of  God  !" 
■was  the  last  reply  of  Boretzkaia. 

Thoughtfully  departed  the  Great  Prince  from 
the  dungeon ;  thoughtful,  without  looking  round 
him,  he  passed  softly  by  the  abodes  of  the  other 
prisoners;  and  when  he  felt  ihe  fresh  air  blow- 
ing on  him,  he  crossed  himself,  bowing  towards 
a  neighbouring  church,  and  ejaculated — "Wilt 
thou  then  judge  thy  servant  Ivan,  and  not  the 
Prince  of  Moscow!" 

At  this  moment,  from  the  steps  in  front  of  the 
Black  Izba,  there  opened  before  the  artist  a  view 
of  the  spot  on  which  was  to  be  built  the  Cathe- 
dral of  the  Annunciation  :  he  grew  thoughtful — 
bis  heart  and  soul  flew  thither. 

"Hark  thee,  Aristotle,"  said  the  Great  Prince 
to  him,  laying  his  hand  on  the  Italian's  shoulder: 
"thou  must  prepare  more  of  these  railings.  At 
night  I  mean  to  close  up  the  streets  with  them 
from  drunken  and  evil-disposed  people." 

The  artist  fell,  as  it  were  from  heaven  into  the 
mud.  He  turned  red,  then  pale,  glanced  at  his 
companion,  and — said  not  a  word. 

On  the  road  he  related  to  Antony  the  story  of 
Marpha  of  Novgorod,  and  how  with  her  had 
died  in  Russia  the  vigour  of  the  commonality, 
■which  had  been  brought  from  Germany  to  Nov- 
gorod and  PskofFby  the  commercial  spirit  ;  but 
he  said  nothing  about  the  subject  of  the  Great 
Prince's  last  words. 

"  Ivan  doth  not  always  chant  such  a  dirge  of 
mercy'?"  remarked  the  leech. 

By  their  side  Andriousha  gaily  pranced  along 
on  a  fiery  steed. - 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    PATIENTS. 

"  And  what  if  I  thy  bold-faced  saucy  cheat 
Before  the  time  to  all  the  world  discover  7"  .  .  .  . 

P6US1IKIN. 

From  this  moment  Andri6usha  was  a  frequent 
visitor  to  Ehrenstein:  he  taught  him  Russian; 
and  the  intelligent  pupil,  with  the  aid  of  the 
Tchekh  language,  made  rapid  progress.  It  was 
delightful  to  see  how  the  boy  dressed  himself  in 
magisterial  importance  during  the  lessons;  and 
how  obediently  the  Paduan  bachelor  listened. 
Sometimes  the  master  would  knit  his  brows 
when  the  pupil's  obstinate  tongue — accustoined 
to  the  easy  sounds  of  the  Italian— refused  to  ut- 
ter the  sometimes  difficult  combinations  of  Rus- 
sian consonants.  The  lesson  ended,  the  professor 
and  disciple  were  gone,  and  in  their  place  ap- 
peared friendship  with  her  smiles,  her  lively  con- 
versation, and  caresses.  Friendship  !  when  one 
of  them  was  more  than  twenty-five,  and  the  other 
not  above  half  that  age  !  .  .  .  .  what  matter  1 
Both  were  young  in  soul — both  felt  aspirations 


after  all  that  was  noble,  and  a  mysterious  attrac- 
tion for  each  other.  They  seemed  to  have  rivet- 
ed some  indescribable  chain  which  fate  alone 
could  undo.  They  called  each  other  friend,  and 
could  not  understand  how  strangers  could  find 
any  thing  extraordinary  in  their  connexion. 
Antony  was  alone  in  a  foreign  land :  the  artist, 
in  consequence  of  the  multitude  of  his  various 
occupations,  could  but  seldom  visit  him.  The 
master  of  the  house,  and  almost  all  the  Russians, 
continued  to  estrange  themselves,  or  rather  to 
shun  him  with  abhorrence ;  Andrea  was  the 
only  being  in  Russia  that  loved  him,  that  under- 
stood him,  that  communicated  with  him  the 
thoughts  of  an  intellect  early  developed,  and  a 
warm  and  benevolent  soul.  To  Andriousha  no 
less  did  the  young  physician  become  something 
indispensable — a  fifth  element,  as  it  were :  with- 
out him  the  world  would  have  been  a  blank. 
Born  in  Italy,  he  still  remembered,  like  some 
spirit  exiled  to  this  dull  earth  from  another  and 
brighter  world — he  remembered  with  lively  re- 
gret the  luxuriance  of  southern  nature,  the  skies 
of  those  lands — their  groves  of  orange  and  cy- 
press ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  there  breathed  on  him 
from  Antony  the  warm  odorous  air  of  that  bless- 
ed region.  Something  strange  and  mysterious, 
loo,  attracted  him  to  the  young  German  .... 
what  it  was  he  could  never  describe,  even  to 
himself.  The  boy  warmly  loved  one  other  be- 
ing, good  and  beautiful  too — but  this  being  he 
loved  less  than  Antony.  This  was  Obrazetz's 
daughter,  Anastasia.  Frequently  did  he  go  frona 
Ehrenstein  to  her,  and  from  her  to  his  friend  ; 
and  this  intercourse,  which  began  in  innocence, 
established  between  them  a  kind  of  magic,  three- 
fold bond. 

Ehrenstein  had  never  seen  Anastasia ;  but  had 
often  listened  to  the  steps  of  her  little  feet  upon 
the  ceiling  of  his  chamber.  Often  Andriousha 
would  relate  how  beautiful  she  was,  how  good, 
how  kind,  how  she  loved  him,  how  she  kissed 
him.  This  close  proximity  to  a  young  maiden, 
to  whom  the  descriptions  of  his  friend,  as  well 
as  his  own  imagination,  gave  all  that  was  near- 
est perfection,  external  as  well  as  intellectual; 
the  mystery  that  surrounded  her;  her  close  retire- 
ment; the  difficulty  of  beholding  her — all  this 
awoke  in  Antony's  heart  a  feeling  to  which  he 
had  hitherto  been  a  stranger.  He  frequently 
thought  upon  her,  listened  to  any  story  about 
her  with  peculiar  delight,  kissed  Andriousha 
inore  frequently,  when  the  latter  mentioned  that 
Anastasia  had  kissed  him — and  often  beheld  ia 
his  dreains  a  lovely  female  form,  which  he  call- 
ed by  her  name.  In  one  word,  he  was  in  love 
with  her,  though  he  had  never  seen  her.  But 
soon  he  called  "this  feeling  folly — the  caprice  of 
solitude;  and  he  extinguished  it  by  renewed  ap- 
plication to  his  science,  to  which  he  devoted  him- 
self with  fresh  warmth  and  sedulity.  If  he  men- 
tioned any  thing  about  Anastasia  now,  it  was 
only  as  a  jest;  even  the  sound  of  her  step  over- 
head he  now  learned  to  hear  with  indifference, 
as  we  listen  to  the  unvarying  beat  of  the  pendu- 
lum of  a  clock.  The  visitors  who  soon  besieged 
him  on  all  sides,  aided  him  to  cast  away  every 
thought  about  her ;  and  at  last  Muscovite  patients 
presented  themselves  to  him.  They  had,  then, 
thrown  aside  their  hatred  of  the  foreigner,  and 
theirdread  of  the  sorcerer,  as  he  had  been  hitherto 
accounted.  At  last,  to  work,  Antony!  Thy 
heart  bounds  with  the  sweet  hope  of  helping  suf- 
fering humanity;  let  them  besiege  thee  night 
and  day— let  them  give  thee  no  rest !     These 


56 


THE    HERETIC. 


toils,  these  importunities  will  be  delightful  to 
thee.  Thou  wouldst  not  exchange  them  for  all 
the  lazy  luxury  of  wealth. 

'=Who  is  there"?" 

"I,  your  most  obsequious  servant,  his  high- 
ness's  interpreter,  Bartholomew;  and  I  come  not 
alone.     With  me  there  is  an  obsequious  patient 


master  sinned ;  and  'tis  finished.  This  we  hare- 
settled  with  the  right   worshipful    baron the 

richest,  and,  I  must  add,  the  most  generous  of 
mortals.  This  agreement  is  sealed  with  a 
solemn  oath." 

During   this  lively  conversation,  which  the 
living  skeleton  understood  by  the  citation  of  the 


if  you  will  permit  him  to  be  so,  right  worship- j  text,  he  called  the  boy  to  him,  convulsively  patted 

lul  Master  Leech."  him  on  the  head  with  a  fatherly  tenderness,  pad- 

"  i  pray  ye,  enter."  I  riling  with  his  bony  fingers  on  the  downy  cheek", 


And — dot-and-go-one,  dot-and-go-one  ! — there 
glided  into  the  chamber  the  splendidly  illumi- 
nated face  of  the  printer,  the  terrible  vanquisher 
of  all  women  from  the  Rhine  to  the  Ya6uza. 
Clinging  to  him  by  his  clawlike  fingers,  there 
crawlsd  IPj,  as  ;1  for  contrast,  an  animated  skele- 
ton, covered  with  a  wrinkled  hide;  its  head  and  | 


then  leered  at  the  physician,  as  though  he  would 
say — "  Look,  'tis  like  a  ripe  cherry!" 

"  Harkye,  Bartholomew !"  said  the  young  phy- 
sician, sternly— "  Once  for  all  I  tell  thee,  if  ever 
thou  uaiest  again  to  come  to  me  with  such  prop- 
ositions, I  will  throw  thee  out  of  the  window." 
I  The  eager  and  submissive  interpreter  of  all 
chin  were  fringed  with  a  few  remnants  of  white  |  work  by  no  means  expected  such  a  reply.  He 
hair,  and  it  was  swathed  in  a  sh6uba.  He  seem- 1  was  altogether  disconcerted,  and  in  a  pitiful 
ed  to  breathe  oiu,  as  it  were,  an  odour  of  corrup-  mumbling  tone  he  continued,  laying  on  every 
tion.     This  being,  which  had  once  been  man,  {word,  and  almost  every  syllable, a  comma  em- 


might  have  dwelt  on  earth  perhaps  eighty  years 
by  his  eyes,  his  lips,  his  voice,  by  each  convul- 
sive jerk  that  replaced  movement,  death  seemed 
to  be  saying — "  Forget  not  that  I  am  here  ;  I  sit 
firm— my  respite  is  but  short."  But  the  man — 
for  man  he  once  had  been — had  forgotten  this, 
and  was  come  to  ask  Antony  the  leech,  the  Al- 
mayne  sorcerer,  who  could  restore  youth  and 
strength  to  the  aged,  by  transfusing  into  their 
veins  the  blood  of  children — he  came  to  ask  him 


phasis,  like  that  made  by  his  leg — "You  . 
yourself  ....   most   high   wor   ....   shipful 
.  .  .  .  said  ....  to  the  Great  Prince"  .... 

"True,  true!  I  was  in  the  wrong.  But,  to- 
console  this  decrepit  old  man  of  thine,  I  will  give 
him  the  elixir  of  life — not  long  invented.  Tell 
him,  that  'tis  a  pity  he  could  not  have  made  use 
of  it  some  twenty  years  sooner :  then  he  would 
have  lived  twenty  years  longer.  But  even  as  it. 
is,  if  he  will  taketen  drops  of  it  morning  and 


for  life,  life  but  for  ten  or  twenty  years.     He  had  \  evening  ....  I  hope  it  will  strengthen  the  old 

man  ....  keep  him  up,  if  but  for  a  lime  '  .  .  .  . 

A  phial  of  the  elixir  was  given  to  the  walking 
skeleton,  with  a  translation  of  the  physician's 
directions.  The  dotard's  trembling,  bony  hand 
laid  on  the  table  a  schiflTsnobel.  A  .schiflsnobel ! 
Whatever  you  may  think,  the  fee  was  a  prince- 
ly one,  judging  from  the  fact,  that  even  Ivan 
Vassilievitch  himself  was  wont  to  send  to  the 
kinsmen  of  his  Iriends,  to  Tsarinas,  to  their  chil- 
dren, a  schiflTsnobel  at  a  time — it  was  very  rare 
indeed  if  he  gave  two.  Notwithstanding  the 
splendour  of  the  fee,  the  physician  returned  the 
money,  saying  that  he  would  accept  it  when  the 
medicine  began  to  act.  With  this,  he  conduct- 
ed the  patient  and  his  go-between  to  the  door. 

The  elixir,  it  seemed,  did  not  operate  so  pow- 
erfully as  the  decrepit  old  man  had  hoped.  He 
laid  all  the  blame  on  the  bov,  his  kholop,  whom, 
as  Bartholomew  had  said,  the  physician  had  de- 
sired to  save  ;  and  he  did  "  sin" — by  dashing  out 
the  Jtoy's  brains.  But  "in  ihys  cas,  y  judge* 
didde"  not  "  account  hym  guilty— nor  judge 
hym,"  because  the  laws  were  not  written  by 
slaves.  The  slave  was  buried,  and  nothing 
more  was  said  about  it.  Within  a  week,  how- 
ever, a  higher  Judge  had  summoned  the  lord 
also  before  his  judgment-seat. 

On  the  next  day,  late  in  the  evening,  came 
another  tap  at  the  door. 

"  Who  is  there  T' 

"'Tis  I,  if  I  may  venture  to  say  so;  your 
most  devoted  .servant,  the  printer  Bariholomeus." 

"  Como  in." 

"  I  am  not  alone,  I  have  ....  with  me"  .... 

"  Remember  our  agreement,  Master  Barthol- 
omew." 

"  How  can  I  forget  it !  .  .  .  sooner  may  my 
right  hand  wither  away  I  ....  I  have  with  me 
....  a  young  ladv  ...  not  a  dry,  decrepit,  old 
dotard,  on  whom  it  would  be  too  much  honour 
even  to  spit  .  .  .  No,  a  voung,  benutiful  lady, 
whose  fingers  you  would  never  be  tired  of  kiss- 
ing ....  the  rich  widow,  Silinova  ;  she  is  wail- 
ing on  the  stairs  j  may  she  enter  1" 


young  wile,  he  was  rich,  he  7)iusi  live  on 
awhile.  Antony  himself  was  an  aged  man: 
they  had  beheld  him  by  night,  through  the  win- 
dow, old — by  day,  he  transformed  himself  into  a 
handsome  blooming  youth.  Who  was  there,  in 
all  Moscow,  that  knew  not  thisl  .... 

The  living  skeleton  looked  wistfully,  yet  with 
fear,  at  the  leech,  and  still  more  beseechingly  he 
pointed  to  a  boy  of  ten  years  old,  who  was  stand- 
ing, in  a  kind  of  awe,  by  the  door.  Nothing,  it 
seemed,  could  be  better  chosen  ;  just  the  age,  just 
the  appearance,  that  the  German  had  described 
to  the  Great  Prince  as  proper  for  the  great  opera- 
tion of  restoring  youth. 

Antony  himself  was  petrified.  "No,"  he 
thought,  "never  will  I  consent  to  this  frightful 
experiment !  And  even  if  it  should  succeed  .... 
at  the  expense  of  this  child's  young,  blooming 
life,  to  prolong  for  a  year  or  two  the  mere  ani- 
mal existence  of  a  dotard  I  who  perhaps  is  a 
burden  to  the  earth  ....  Nsver,  never!" 

"Fear  not,  most  high  worshipful  sir!"  said 
Bartholomew  with  a  simper,  "that,  in  case  of 
the  death  of  this  boy,  either  you  or  this  respecta- 
ble gentleman  will  have  to  answer  for  it.  Fear 
not,  fear  not,  this  lad  is— a  k/wl6p." 

"I  understand  not  the  meaning  of  'kkolSp,'" 
replied  Antony;  "I  only  know  that  he  is  a  hu- 
man being." 

"  Human  !  ....  hm!  ....  a  human  being 
....  I  have  the  honour  to  inform  you  he  is  a 
kholop— a  slave.  Be  assured,  I  am' myself  ex- 
ceeding cautclons  in  these  matters;  aiid  there- 
fore have  I  looked  into  the  soudi^bnik  of  the 
Great  Prince  of  All  Russia.  There,  the  law  is 
clearly  laid  down:  '  Bot  whosoeuer,  beeing  a 
lord,  schal  pcradventure  sinne,  and  bete  hys 
kholop,  or  his  bondwoman,  so  thatte  y  sam  dye 
iherof;  thanne  yn  no  cas  .schal  y'  lorde  bee 
judged  or  accownled  guilty  thefof.'  When 
translated,  this  means  ....  (here  the  eager  in- 
terpreter turned  the  text  into  German.)  In  case 
ol  llic  death  of  this  lad,  we  shall  say  that  his 


THE    HERETIC. 


57 


"If  she  pleases." 

"  I  suppose  she  couieth  to  consult  me  about  a 
son,  a  relation — who  knoweth  V  thought  An- 
lony,  as  he  hastily  donned  a  rich  mantle. 

In  reality,  there  timidly  entered  the  room  a 
pretty  woman,  of  about  the  same  age  as  Ehren- 
stein;  she  seemed  quaking  in  every  limb,  and 
nevertheless  to  be  burning  with  agitation.  She 
did  not  dare  to  lift  up  her  eyes  ....  soon  tears 
began  to  stream  from  them,  and  she  fell  at  the 
physician's  feet. 

"  Rise,  I  entreat  you  ....  Without  this  I  will 
do  all  you  desire,"  said  Antony,  raising  her. 

"  I  will  not  rise,  worthy  man,  till  thou  doest 
what  I  ask.  Be  a  father,  be  a  brother  to  me ; 
help  me,  or  I  will  lay  hands  on  myself!"  .... 

And  the  pretty  young  woman  clasped  his 
knees,  sobbing. 

"  Explain,  Bartholomew,  what  she  desireth  of 
me." 

"  This  is  the  matter,"  replied  the  printer  with 
a  grin.  "  This  is  the  same  woman  ....  I  ex- 
plained, methinks,  on  the  first  day  of  your  arri- 
val, most  high  worshipful  sir  ...  .  that  she  is  in 
love  with  the  son  of  your  host." 

The  widow  Selinova  interrupted  him  in  con- 
fusion, forgetting  that  the  physician  understood 
very  little  Russian. — "  True,  true  !  for  him  I  for- 
got virtue  while  my  husband  was  alive;  I  forgot 
my  race  and  blood ;  I  forgot  censorious  neigh- 
bours ;  shame  ! — I  forgot  that  there  were  other 
people  in  the  world  besides  him.  For  him  I  gave 
up  my  soul.  When  he  was  leading  me  astray 
— when  he  was  turning  my  head— he  called  me 
his  bright  sun,  his  never-setting  star :  he  prevail- 
ed by  such  tales  as  these — '  That  day  when  I 
forget  my  love,  may  my  swift  feet  break  under 
me,  my  manly  hands  fall  powerless ;  may  sand 
be  strewn  over  my  eyes,  may  my  white  breast 
be  covered  with  the  plank  !'  See  now,  in  my 
blue  eyes  there  is  no  ray — not  a  spark.  My 
lover  bath  no  faith  in  his  false  heart :  all  his 
words  are  deceit.  My  beloved  is  enamoured  of 
another,  who  dwelleth  with  the  brother  of  Pho- 
minishma.  And  who  is  she  to  rival  me "?  In 
■what  is  she  better  than  1 1  Perhaps  she  is  bet- 
ter, because  she  admits  to  the  bed  of  Andrei  Pho- 
mitch  a  succession  of  fickle  youths  !  She  hath 
enchanted — the  accursed  Greek  ! — my  curled 
lover.  Ever  since  that  day,  the  faithless  boy 
laugheth  at  ray  caresses,  and  answereth  my  love 
■with  such  mocker}'  as  this — '  The  heart  loveth 
freedom,  and  slavery  is  a  shame  to  the  brave  ! 
Get  thee  gone — go  to  the  fiend !  If  thou  wilt  not 
leave  me  alone.  I  will  take  wood  from  the  court, 
I  will  make  a  pile,  and  I  will  burn  thy  fair  body 
even  to  ashes  ;  I  will  scatter  the  dust  in  the  plain, 
and  none  shall  mourn  or  weep  for  thee.'  What- 
ever I  do,  I  cannot  cease  to  love  him.  I  track 
his  steps  ;  I  wither  away,  I  pine.  Thou  see'st  I 
would  fain  not  weep;  even  though  mine  eyes 
were  dry,  my  heart  would  sob.  Have  pity  on 
me !  have  mercy,  good  man  !  Tear  him  from 
the  accursed  Greek  by  the  powers  of  good  or  ill 
— restore  him  to  me.  Take  for  thy  good  service 
my  hammered  chests,  my  precious  treasures- 
pearls  of  orient !  Take  all  that  I  have,  but  give 
me  back  my  lover  as  he  was  of  old,  my  belov- 
ed !"  "  ^ 

When  Selinova  had  concluded  her  prayer, 
Bartholomew  translated  it  as  well  as  he  could. 
Submitting  to  the  prejudices  of  his  times  and  of 
his  heart,  Antony  did  not  laugh  at  her.  He 
himself,  as  well  as  his  instructors,  was  firmly 
convinced  that  there  exists   a    secret    science 


which  can  influence,  by  attraction  and  repulsion, 
the  poles  of  the  heart.  Besides  this,  with  his 
good-nature,  was  it  possible  to  laugh  at  feelings 
so  ardent  and  so  strong,  which  had  induced  a 
young  woman  to  forget  shame  so  far  as  to  come 
and  implore  a  stranger's  help  1  But  how  to 
assist  herl  Untbnunately,  Antony  was  igno- 
rant of  the  occult  science:  to  refuse  Selinova's 
request  would  be  to  drive  her  to  despair. 
"  Time,"  he  thought,  "  will  bring  her  a  better 
cure;  let  us  leave  it  to  time.  I  will  tell  her  that, 
for  the  completion  of  the  necessary  incantations, 
two,  three,  new  moons  are  requisite,  according 
to  circumstances:  that  I  must  have  a  personal 
intercourse  with  Khabar — with  the  Greek." 

And  he  acted  accordingly.  Only  in  addition 
to  his  advice,  he  took  her  white  hand,  placed  her 
on  a  seat,  consoled  her,  and  promised  her  all 
kinds  of  aid :  and  the  pretty  widow,  whether 
tranquillized  by  his  assurances,  or  feeling  a  new 
sentiment  towards  the  handsome  stranger,  or  by 
the  desire  of  taking  revenge  on  her  former  lover, 
departed  from  the  physician,  feeling  almost  con- 
soled.    The  old  song  is  right — 

"  O,  a  young  widow  weepeth  as  the  dew  doth  fall  ,- 
TJpriseth  the  beaming  sun,  the  dew  drielh  up," 

The  proverb — "  it  never  rains,  but  it  pours,"" 
was  exemplified  on  this  occasion  :  never  had  the 
physician  prescribed  to  a  patient  so  nauseous  a 
draught  as  Bartholomew  made  him  swallow  at 
each  of  his  visits.  On  the  following  day,  again 
a  reception — again  the  appearance  of  the  inev- 
-itable  translator.  With  him  came  the  boyaria 
Mamon.  The  union  of  these  two  personages 
boded  no  good  ;  but  the  printer  had  been  pretty 
well  frightened  by  the  leech:  was  he  come  again 
to  demand  some  absurdity  1 

Was  it  really  so'?  "The  pitcher  goeth  oft  to 
the  well,  and  is  broken  at  last."  It  was  not 
money  nor  pleasures  that  the  Interpreter  sought 
in  his  meditation.  No — his  passion  was  to  ob- 
tain the  good- will  of  others;  in  any  manner,  with 
any  person — even  against  his  own  interest.  He 
was  ready  to  lie  for  another,  for  himself,  so  that 
he  could  in  any  way  curry  favour.  That  he  had 
himself  known  Antony  in  Germany  an  old  man^ 
withered,  white-haired — that  Antony  was  a  most 
mighty  necromancer  —  could  make  old  men 
young — could  enchant  cold  and  faithless  hearts 
— could  bewitch  wood,  iron,  houses,  whole 
towns ;  these  reports  were  all  fictions  of  Barthol- 
omew's. O,  when  it  came  to  inventing,  he  was 
no  fool !  Believe  or  not,  that  was  no  affair  of 
his !  But  that  he  was  believed,  was  proved  by 
all  the  patients  that  he  had  brought  to  the  young 
physician.  A  new  proof  of  this  was  the  boyarin 
Mam8n  :  himself  the  son  of  a  witch,  burned  by 
the  Prince  of  Mojaisk  for  intercourse  with  the 
Evil  One,  he  had  already  been  terrified  by  the 
leech's  proposal  to  transfuse  his  blood  in  e.x- 
change  for  that  of  the  little  deacon  ;  and  the  boy- 
arin had  now  recourse  to  the  magic  of  ihe  here- 
tic. It  may  be  guessed  that  what  he  needed  was 
power  to  work  death  and  mischief;  and  it  was 
indeed  no  trifle.  He  came  to  request  him,  in 
the  first  place,  to  drive  Anastasia  mad  with  love 
for  his  son  ;  in  the  second,  to  enchant  a  steel,  so 
that  it  might  not  betray  himself  or  that  unhappy 
son,  in  the  event  of  a  judicial  combat. 

"  What  would  the  baron  1"  enquired  Antonj'. 

Mamon  was  no  coward,  but  he  was  awe- 
struck when  it  was  necessary  to  have  recourse 
to  supernatural  aid.  Trembling,  he  pointed  to 
the  Interpreter. 


THE    HERETIC. 


"  The  baron,"  continued  the  Interpreter,  re- 
membering the  intractable  character  of  the  leech, 
and  anxious  to  get  safe  and  sound  out  of  the  ad- 
venlure,  which  his  passion  for  making  him.self 
useful  had  made  him  undertake  —  "the  baron 

....  as  you  see hath  a  swelling  in  his 

liver"  .... 

"  I  see  nothing,"  interrupted  the  physician. 

"  As  you  know,  I  meant  to  say.  Then  at 
times  he  hath  a  whirling  in  the  head,  and  sink- 
ings of  the  heart;  and  then  again,  something  af- 
ter the  manner  of  a  consumption;  and  again  at 
times,  something  after  the  manner  of  an  hydropi- 
sy;  at  limes"  .... 

"At  Umes  death,  too,  I  suppose.  Either  all 
these  diseases  exist  only  in  the  baron's  imagina- 
tion, or  you,  good  Master  Interpreter  —  be  not 
ofl'ended  —  are  pleased  to  lie.  As  far  as  I  can 
judge  from  the  patient's  eyes  and  complexioi., 
both  tinged  with  a  saffron  hue,  he  hath  simply 
an  overflow  of  bile;  and  therefore  I  counsel  him 
chietly  to  give  way  less  frequently  to  fits  of  chol- 
cr;  and,  in  addition  to  this,  to  use  (so  and  so)" 

Here  Antony  advised  him  to  take  an  infusion 
■^f  various  herbs  exceedingly  common,  and  such 
as  might  probably  be  found  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Moscow. 

Bartholomew  communicated  all  this  to  Ma- 
mon  in  the  following  fashion  :  "  Thou  must  pro- 
cure, boyiirin,  at  the  new  moon,  two  young  toads 
of  different  .^exes  ;  keep  them  together  where 
thou  judgest  fit,  three  days  and  three  nights,  by 
day  in  the  beams  of  the  sun,  by  night  under  the 
rays  of  the  moon  ;  then  bury  them  alive  together 
at  midnight,  at  the  full  of  the  moon,  in  the  forest, 
in  an  ant-hill ;  and  on  Ihe  next  night  take  out  of 
tbe  male  toad  a  hook  which  he  halh  under  his 
heart,  but  the  toad  of  the  female  sex  leave  in  the 
ant-hill.  With  this  hook  let  your  son  catch  the 
maiden,  calling  her  by  her  name"  .... 

The  ph3'sician  shook  his  head,  and  said — 
"Thou  art  a  cheat!" 

"  A  cheat,  a  cheat !"  cried  somebody  from  be- 
hind the  door ;  and  the  poor  Interpreter,  surround- 
ed on  every  side  by  a  sudden  attack,  trembling 
like  a  leaf,  neither  dead  nor  alive,  stopped  short 
at  the  magic  cry.  He  had  not  strength  to  move 
his  tongue,  he  dared  not  even  turn  round. 

The  door  flew  open,  and  the  chill  of  death 
seemed  to  breathe  from  it  on  the  culprit.  The 
detector  stood  outside,  and  had  consequently 
heard  all.  He  appeared,  armed  with  the  flaming 
sword  of  proof.  It  was  Andriousha.  There 
was  no  escape.  Bartholom6w  looked  at  his 
judge  ....  In  that  glance  were  united  abject 
i'ear,  entreaty,  hope,  apprehension,  torture ;  the 
glance  was  so  eloquent,  that  Andriousha  was 
moved  to  save  the  unhappy  culprit;  but  remem- 
bering that  the  cheater  had  made  a  tool  of  his 
friend,  and  that  now  he  could  put  an  end,  once 
for  all,  to  the  translator's  rogueries,  he  abandon- 
ed him  as  a  sacrifice  to  his  angry  dupes. 

"  If  Master  Court  Interpreter,"  cried  the  son 
of  Aristotle,  "translates  as  correctly  as  that  liie 
German  papers  and  treaties  between  our  great 
lord  and  the  ambassadors,  we  may  congratulate 
Russia  on  some  rare  strokes  of  policv.  On  thy 
knees,  this  instant  —  this  moment,  Master  Bar- 
tholomew!— and  beg  for  pardon.  Thou  wilt  he 
lucky  if  the  leech  and  the  boyi'irin  onlv  drag  thee 
out  by  the  ears,  on  condition  that  thou  never 
ag.iin  show  thy  fare  before  them!" 

Obeying  the  boy's  angry  look  and  command, 
the  unfortuate  printer  fell  on  his  knees,  folding 


his  hands  pitifully  on  his  breast,  and  bendirg  his 
eyes  on  the  ground.  He  had  not  a  word  tc  say 
for  himself. 

Andriousha  explained  to  his  friend  and  the 
boyarin,  how  he  had  followed  the  Interpreter 
(whom  he  had  long  counted  a  liar,)  and  had  list- 
ened to  his  translation.  He  then  gave  the  true 
version.  Detected  in  this  cheat,  the  Interpreter 
confessed  to  the  villanous  reports  respecting  An- 
tony which  he  had  so  busily  circulated  through 
Moscow.  Mamon  was  about  to  fly  at  him,  and 
would  have  fairly  throttled  him;  but  Ehrenstein 
protected  the  poor  devil,  begging  the  boyarin  to 
content  himself  with  the  punishment  already  in- 
flicted of  terror  and  humiliation.  On  this  occa- 
sion, the  new  and  eloquent  little  translator  ex- 
plained to  the  boydrin  how  much  the  inhabitants 
of  Moscow  were  mistaken  in  considering  the 
physician  a  sorcerer:  that  science  had  only  giv- 
en him  the  knowledge  of  natural  powers,  and  of 
the  mode  of  employing  them  for  the  benefit  of 
humanity :  that  even  if  there  existed  in  the  world 
other  powers  to  attract  or  to  repel,  by  means  of 
which  a  man  acquainted  with  their  .secret  influ- 
ences might  perform  things  apparently  super- 
natural, yet  that  he — Antony  the  leech — was  un- 
happily ignorant  of  those  powers,  and  was  him- 
self but  a  seeker  after  them;  and  therefore  that 
he  must  refuse  every  person  who  should  ask  his 
aid  in  such  matters.  But  as  a  physician,  he 
hoped  by  the  help  of  God,  and  of  science,  which 
is  also  God's  gift,  to  cure  the  sick;  and  he  was 
ready,  without  any  distinction  of  lime  or  weath- 
er, without  any  views  of  interest,  to  be  useful  to 
any  one  who  had  the  least  need  of  his  assistance. 

Thus  finished  another  unsuccessful  consulta- 
tion. 

"  It  seems  that  I  am  fated  to  burn  bricks  here 
too,"  said  the  physician,  sadly  to  his  little  friend, 
when  the  boyarin,  followed  by  the  printer,  had 
departed. 

"Raise  the  sick  from  his  bed!"  thought  Ma- 
mon, with  a  sneer ;  "  what  old  woman's  songs 
would  this  poticarier  sing  us!  ....  The  man 
who  is  fated  to  live  will  rise  through  the  ice-hole 
— from  under  a  falling  house  can  he  leap,  and 
arise  from  the  grave.  Him  who  is  fated  to  die, 
even  the  staff"  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch  cannot  raise. 
Let  him  get  a  beard,  and  then  he  may  make  ac- 
quaintance wiih  the  Fiend.  The  Devil  would 
carry  a  hundred  such  Almayne  quacksalvers  at 
his  belt :  better  go  to  the  witch,  or  to  the  Jew 
with  the  book  of  Adam!" 

Nevertheless  the  boyarin,  though  he  laughed 
at  the  leech's  ignorance  of  sorcery,  determined 
to  keep  silence  on  this  point.  "Let  him  have 
the  reputation  of  being  an  enchanter,  one  who  is 
acquainted  with  the  secrets  of  the  Ibul  fiend  !" 
said  the  boyarin  to  himself,  as  he  descended  the 
stairs — "  I,  loo,  will  e.xert  myself  to  spread  the 
report :  the  more  terrible  we  can  make  the  pow- 
er of  the  German,  the  more  bitter  will  he  be  to 
my  good  friend !" 

"Ho,  Insatiate!"  he  said,  looking  at  a  tall 
peasant,  as  pale  as  a  corpse,  who  was  standing 
on  the  steps— "  What  dost  thou  here?" 

"  I  would  see  Antony  the  leech— assuredly  to 
be  healed." 

"Go  to  him,  go!  His  devil  is  stronger  than 
thine,  than  the  one  that  is  in  thee.  He  will 
siicedily  fight  him,  and  drive  him  away." 

The  boyarin  had  hardly  time  to  pronounce 
these  words,  when  the  voice  of  Andri6usha,  call- 
ing the  sick  man,  was  heard  above  in  the  hall. 

He  was  nicknanied  Insatiate,  from  the  nature  of 


THE    HERETIC. 


59 


his  disease.  He  ate  much — incredibly  much — 
sometimes  enough  to  make  a  meal  for  four 
healthy  men;  and  yet  he  was  always  hungry. 
His  count. -nance  expressed  deep-seated  disease ; 
yet  Ihe  eyes  had  a  kind  of  supernatural  double 
brilliancy  and  liveliness,  as  if,  by  some  mistake 
of  nature,  two  beings  were  looking  througli 
them,  enclosed  in  a  single  body.  This  double 
expression  of  the  eyes  struck'  the  physician. 
The  following  was  the  account,  which,  in  an- 
swer to  the  leech's  questions,  Insatiate  gave  of 
his  disorder: 

"  He  was  a  driver.  Once,  in  the  night-lime, 
he  had  chanced  to  stop  with  his  vehicle  at  a  vil- 
lage inn,  where  there  arrived,  almost  at  the  same 
time  with  him,  a  merchant  with  two  horses  from 
a  distant  country.  Apparently  this  merchant 
was  very  fond  of  his  steeds  ;  for  while  he  him- 
self ate  as  sparingly  as  a  monk  in  the  first  ages 
of  Christianity,  he  gave  abundance  of  oats  to 
his  'flesh  and  blood,'  as  he  called  them,  and  ex- 
pressed great  delight  that  they  fed  so  well. 
The  merchant  complained  only  of  one  thing; 
namely,  that  fate  had  not  given  him  the  means  of 
feeding  them  on  fine  barley,  giving  them  honey 
mixed  with  their  water,  keeping  them  in  velvet 
meadows,  of  petting  ttiem,  of  never  wearying 
them  with  work.  Apparently  he  was  rather 
simple,  or  a  very  good  Christian,  as  he  trusted 
in  the  honesty  of  his  neighbour.  These  re- 
marks, confirmed  by  the  temptation  of  the  Evil 
One,  led  the  driver  into  a  bad  action.  Hardly 
had  the  merchant  found  time  to  pour,  with  fa- 
therly care,  a  good  bellyful  before  his  pets,  and 
to  enter  the  izba  contented  and  easy  about  them, 
when  the  driver,  following  him  to  the  door  with 
his  eyes,  pilfered  the  oats  from  the  stranger's 
horses,  and  gave  them  to  his  own.  The  food 
which  he  had  bought  for  them  at  the  last  bait- 
ing-place would  remain  for  another  time.  His 
horses  almost  burst  themselves,  while  the  mer- 
chant's steeds — his  pets,  his  joy,  the  pride  of  his 
heart — could  hardly  catch  a  grain.  The  guests 
came  out  into  the  court,  crossed  themselves,  and 
exchanged  the  usual  Christian  salutations;  as 
they  had  arrived  from  diflferent  quarters,  so  they 
departed,  each  by  his  own  road.  From  that  mo- 
ment the  merchant  had  never  been  heard  of.  At 
first  the  driver  laughed  at  him  in  his  sleeve;  but 
on  and  on  he  went,  his  mind  growing  gloomier 
and  gloomier,  till  at  last  his  soul  was  as  dark  as 
a  wolfs  throat.  Already  it  began  to  be  no 
laughing  matter.  From  that  day  forward  he 
grew  ill  at  ease.  One  day  he  was  on  the  road 
as  usual.  It  was  eventide.  A  stifling  heat  lay 
on  the  earth — it  felt  as  when  the  evil  spirit  is 
throttling  the  sleeper  who  has  no  strength  to  es- 
cape. The  sky  seemed  like  a  wall  of  redhot 
iron.  Afar,  lights  now  darted  along  like  ser- 
pents, and  then  again  spun  like  a  top.  He  was 
plodding  on  kneedeep  in  sand  ;  hunchbacked, 
dwarfish  fir-trees  stood,  like  sentinels,  along  the 
road.  When  you  think  you  have  passed  them, 
look  beside  you,  and  there  they  are,  shaking 
their  grizzled  heads,  and  clawing  at  you  with 
their  hooked  talons!  'Twas  very  eerie !  The 
driver  was  alone  :  if  he  could  but  have  spied  a 
dwelling!  "Weariness  and  thirst  were  torturing 
him:  his  breast  seemed  on  fire:  his  lips  are  J 
parched  up;  but  suddenly  the  lightning  flashes 
on  the  stagnant  surface  of  a  marshy  pool  like  a 
filthy  sewer.  The  driver  rushes  to  it :  a  thick 
rusty  slime  covers  it  with  a  greenish  bloody 
mantle,  which  is  cut  in  various  directions  by 
loathsom   insects,  darting  quickly  along  it  as  if  i 


they  were  skating;  or  by  bursting  bubbles,  blown 
up  by  the  inhabitants  of  its  depths.  It  was 
horrible  to  look  at  this  pool;  what  then  would 
it  be  to  drink  from  itl  What  was  to  be  done  7 
Thirst  conquered  abhorrence.  The  driverscoop- 
ed  up  a  hatful  of  the  water;  he  blew  on  it  to 
force  aside  the  filthy  scum — crossed  himself — 
and,  shutting  his  eyes,  drank.  At  that  instant — 
he  knew  not  how ;  he  could  give  no  account  of 
it — he  remembered  the  merchant  and  his  horses. 
Something  began  to  lie  heavy  at  his  heart:  in 
three  days  he  felt  as  if  a  stone  was  pressing  on 
his  breast  beneath  the  brisket;  and  this  stone 
seemed  to  be  alive,  to  move,  and  suck  at  his 
heart." 

"Ah,  I  understand!"  cried  Antony  with  de- 
light, like  a  person  who  has  just  guessed  a  diffi- 
cult riddle,  over  which  he  has  been  beating  his 
brains.     "  But  go  on." 

The  driver  continued,  breathing  heavily  from 
time  to  time,  like  a  labourer  who  has  been  lift- 
ing a  great  weight.  Pressing  close  up  to  the 
physician,  Andriousha  listened,  and  translated 
the  story  into  Italian.  Antony  devoured  every 
word  with  eagerness. 

"From  that  hour,"  said  Insatiate,  "I  have 
never  had  a  moment's  ease;  and,  above  all,  I 
can  never  satisfy  my  hunger,  however  much  I 
eat.  Even  though  I  eat  a  loaf  as  large  as  a  man's 
head,  and  a  whole  sheep,  I  am  still  hungry.  I 
have  been  to  the  wise  women — the  wise  women 
straightway  guessed  that  1  had  stolen  the  oats 
from  the  stranger's  horses,  but  they  could  do 
nothing  for  me.  Wherever  I  went  they  always 
told  me  the  same.  What  money  have  I  not  paiJI 
What  oats  have  I  not  given  to  strangers'  hor- 
ses 1  What  work  have  I  not  done  in  monaste- 
ries 1  All  was  in  vain.  Every  where  they  call 
me  the  Insatiate.  This  word  hath  become  a 
jeer;  the  boys  mock  me  with  it,  and  throw  stones 
at  me.  Thou  see'st  these  five  bones  !"  (he  show- 
ed his  gigantic  fist.)  "  I  could  smash  any  one  I 
pleased.  But  what  good  would  that  do  1"  (In- 
satiate shook  his  head;)  "and  I  do  not  shake 
them  off  even.  There  is  a  stone  in  my  bosom 
heavier  than  those  they  cast  at  me;  there  it 
seemeth  to  be  planted  !  Hark,  how  it  rumbles  ! 
Dost  thou  hear  it  1  And  then  they  call  me  In- 
satiate! Oh,  it  is  heavy — so  heavy  !  If  I  could 
but  depart  from  the  light  of  day  !  .  .  .  .  He.?p 
me,  good  man  !  drive  it  out  of  me  I  I  will  be 
thy  bond  slave  to  my  dying  day;  though  they 
say  that  thou  art  an  accursed  Latiner,  a  Ger- 
man heretic — worse  than  a  Tartar!" 

And  Insatiate,  as  he  finished  his  story,  wept 
— wept  bitterly. 

Having  made  the  necessary  medical  examina- 
tion, Antony  said — "Yes,  in  thy  body  there  is 
nested  a  living  animal.  With  the  help  of  God 
I  will  drive  out  of  thee  this  horrible  creature, 
and  thou  wilt  be  well.  Pray  to  the  most  Holy 
Virgin;  and  when  the  Italian  Aristotle  shall 
build  her  temple,  labour  thou  at  the  foundatioa 
of  the  altar." 

Insatiate  promised,  and  with  lively  confidence 
gave  himself  up  to  the  leech's  will.  The  cure 
was  complete ;  the  next  day  the  patient  got  rid  of  a 
toad,  which  he  had  probably  swallowed  in  an  em- 
bryo state  in  the  stagnant  water.  When  com- 
pletely recovered,  he  every  where  sang  the  praises 
of  the  leech  Antony,  and  in  his  daily  prayers  re- 
membered gratefullv  the  German's  name;  im- 
ploring God  to  convert  him  to  the  true  faith. 
The  Russian  people  explained  this  cure  after 
their  own  fashion. 


60 


THE    HERETIC. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    ENCHANTMENT. 

There  fl^wthe  nightingale 

By  the  greenwood,  by  the  green  (mderwood, 

By  the  greenwood,  by  the  bkrcben  grove, 

Flew  awiy  the  nightingale 

To  a  green  g4rden,  she  kn*w  not  where  ; 

Then  pirched  the  otghtlngale 

UpAn  a  branch,  she  kn6w  not  where, 

O  that  brinch,  how  it  all6red  her  then  1 

O  that  greenwood,  how  it  ch&rmed  her  then 

How  she  lived  it,  that  nightingale. 

Singing,  how  she  j6)-ed  lu  it ! 

She  never  will  depart  from  it. 

What  was  doing  during  this  interval  in  the 
other  half  of  the  stone  palace  1  It  is  time  to  cast 
a  glance  in  that  direction. 

The  sojourn  of  the  heretic  in  Obrazetz's  pal- 
ace threw  a  gloom  around  it :  it  seemed  as  if  the 
mark  of  an  anathema  had  been  fixed  upon  the 
house;  and,  therefore,  all  its  inhabitants  cursed 
and  hated  the  foul  German.  Every  day  were 
spread  fresh  reports  of  his  connexion  with  the 
Evil  One,  and  of  his  wicked  deeds.  At  one  time 
they  saw  the  devil  flying  to  him  down  the  chim- 
ney in  the  form  of  a  shooting  star,  or  troops  of 
young  witches  rushing  to  meet  him.  At  another, 
they  enjoined  all  fathers  and  mothers  to  conceal 
their  children,  particularly  such  as  were  hrand- 
some;  they  say  he  steals  them,  in  order  to  be- 
come young  and  beautiful  by  drinking  their 
blood.  They  informed  one  another  in  confidence 
that  he  had  enchanted  a  sword  for  Mamon,  in 
case  of  the  judicial  combat ;  that  he  had  cast  out 
an  evil  spirit  in  the  shape  of  a  toad,  from  Insa- 
tiate, and  that  he  kept  tnis  imp  in  a  bottle  to  let 
loose  upon  the  first  person  who  should  offend 
him;  that  when  passing  by  the  churches,  he 
dreads  even  to  walk  in  their  shadow.  They  not 
infrequently  observe  that  the  deacon  Kourilzin, 
the  greatest  of  heretics,  visited  him  at  dead  of 
night,  when  all  good  people  were  asleep,  and 
passed  the  hours  of  darkness  with  him  in  devil- 
ish ceremonies;  and  that  they  had  seen  the  Evil 
One  fly  out  of  the  chimney  in  a  wreath  of  smoke. 
Did  one  of  the  male  or  female  slaves  die  in  the 
house? — 'Twas  the  heretic's  fault.  They  were 
compelled  to  get  living  fire,  (by  rubbing  two 
pieces  of  wood  togethe^. — Note,  in  the  evening, 
when  all  the  fires  of  the  house  were  put  out,  and 
even  that  in  the  ovens  was  quenched  with  wa- 
ter;) they  made  a  pile,  and  forced  every  domes- 
tic animal  to  jump  over  it,  to  purify  it  from  the 
demon-influence.  All  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Stone  Palace  (that  is  to  say  on  the  boyarin's 
side)  approached  this  sacred  fire  to  light  their 
candles  at  it.  The  fresh  living  fire  was  distribu- 
ted about  the  hou.se,  and  lighted  it  up  afresh.  It 
was  lucky  if  ihe  Master's  heart  was  even  now 
satisfied  by  those  purifying  rites.  From  this 
time,  the  four-footed  animals  enjoyed  the  desired 
health ;  from  this  time,  too,  the  inhabitants  of  the 
palace  began  to  sweep  vv  for  Ike  night,  that  the 
guardian  angels  might  Jiave  free  liberty  in  the 
hours  of  sleep  to  wander  round  the  slumbercrs; 
without  running  the  danger  of  stumbling  against 
any  thing,  and  being  thereby  offended. 

Obrazrtz  could  find  no  means  of  getting  rid  of 
his  terrible  guest,  and  no  way  of  releasing  him- 
self from  his  heretical  bondage.  Beg  Ivan  Vas- 
silievetch  to  loose  his  chains— he  dared  not:  An- 
tony the  leech  was  rising  hipfher  day  by  day  in 
the  Great  Prince's  favour.  In  his  aflliction  the 
boyarin  frequently  compared  himself  with  the 
much  suffering  Job;  all  whose  sorrows,  he 
thought,  he  would  willingly  have  accepted  in 
exchange  for  this  slate  of  imprisonment. 


The  half-christened  lad,  Antony's  servant,  was 
much  attached  to  him.  "  Birds  of  a  feather  floct 
together,"  said  the  people  of  the  boyarin's  side; 
and  they  never  permitted  the  youth,  under  any 
pretext,  to  appear  in  that  quarter.  Even  Andri- 
ousha,  since  he  became  intimate  with  the  here- 
tic, was  not  received  by  Obratzetz  so  affection- 
ately as  before;  and  he  was  obliged,  whenever 
he  approached  the  boyarin,  to  purify  himself  by- 
washing.  Anastasia,  however,  loved  her  god- 
son as  much  as  ever,  and  found  even  more  than 
her  former  delight  in  conversing  with  him — 
About  whet? — can  you  guess  1— about  the  her- 
etic. 

About  the  heretic !  ....  Is  it  possible? 

Now  you  must  know,  good  people,  Anastasia 
was  bewitched. 

The  sorcerer  had  bewitched  her  from  the  first 
moment  she  beheld  him:  oi  this  Anastasia  was 
firmly  convinced.  How  otherwise  explain  what 
she  felt  towards  the  German? — him  who  was 
linked  with  the  fiends  ?  To  whom  had  they  told 
so  much  ill  about  the  heretic  as  to  her?  What"? 
after  all  the  charms  against  the  Evil  Eye  that 
her  nurse  had  mumbled  over  her:  after  all  the 
sprinkling  of  holy  water  with  Thursday's  salt*= 
infused  in  it,  and  coals;  after  the  cares  of  the 
whole  swarm  of  her  tierwomen  ;  after  all  the  ad- 
vice of  her  father,  of  the  whole  household — and 
of  her  own  sense  swayed  by  common  prejudices ; 
the  foul  German,  the  Latiner,  the  necromancer, 
hardly  reached  the  staircase,  ere  Anastasia  had 
managed  to  send  away  her  nurse,  her  guadian. 
maidens;  prejudice,  fear,  shame — and  there  she 
was  at  the  sliding  window! 

It  is  to  be  remarked,  that  the  sliding  window 
is  a  characterisfic  peculiar  to  the  Russian  peo- 
ple: even  in  our  own  times,  compel  a  Russian 
merchant  or  peasant  to  make  double  casements 
for  the  winter;  he  will  perhaps  make  them,  but 
he  will  nevertheless  always  leave  one  window 
free — that  can  be  opened  or  shut  as  he  pleases 
with  a  sliding  door.  Without  this  window,  his 
house  feels  to  him  like  a  prison — close,  stifling, 
and  gloomy  :  he  would,  rather  than  have  no  free 
opening,  kiiock  out  a  pane  of  glass:  what  cares 
he,  the  iron  child  of  the  north,  for  the  frost !  Sur- 
rounded with  .snow,  in  the  bitterest  cold,  he 
opens  his  beloved  little  window,  and  through  it 
admires  God's  light,  the  midnight  sky,  strewn 
with  angel  eyes.  "He  looks  out  at  the  passengers 
going  and  coming,  listens  to  their  gossiping  talk, 
hearkens  with  a  kind  of  delighted  sympathy  to 
the  ru.stling  sound  of  the  belated  traveller's  step 
upon  the  snowy  road,  to  the  distant  tinkle  of  the 
sledge-bell  dying  faintly  along  the  wintry  desert 
—sounds  which  have  a  pensive  attraction  for  the 
Russian  heart. 

In  Anastasia's  solitude,  the  sliding  window 
which  had  replaced  one  of  the  Italian  casements 
of  her  bower,  had  afforded  her  also  much  amuse- 
ment: it  was  destined  to  have  a  powerful  influ- 
ence on  her  fate,  from  the  hour  when  she  first 
beheld  from  it  the  young  and  handsome  foreign- 
er. In  spite  of  herself  she  was  attracted  to  that 
window;  in  spite  of  herself  she  gazed  through 
its  modest  .solitarv  little  pane,  or  had  even  ven- 
tured to  slide  it  back,  but  in  such  a  manner  as 


♦  Thumdny's  Salt— On  Thursday  in  Easlor  week  salt  is 
burned  or  roasted  with  an  eg^  :  and  a  quantity  is  preserved 
ill  every  house.  This  salt  is  supposed  to  possess  groat  me- 
(lirinal  and  anti-magical  properties;  nnil  is  given  to  the  sick 
(little,  <tc  ,  Ac,,  on  various  occa-iions.  A  portion  is  always 
eaten  with  the  tirst  food  taken  after  the  fasts,  in  order  that 
Ibis  food  mav  not  hurt  the  stomach,  ic  — T.  B-  S. 


THE    HERETIC. 


61 


she  could  not  be  seen.  The  little  pane  was  al- 
ways bright  and  clean ;  but  when  the  fierce  frost 
breathed  upon  it,  what  would  she  not  do  to  get 
rid  of  its  snowy  dimness-! 

Th.ere  he  was— the  sorcerer— the  handsome 
stranger !  How  the  fire  of  his  blue  eyes  seemed 
to  devour  the  distance  !  How  his  fair  face  seem- 
ed to  rival  the  snow,  when  the  first  ray  of  morn- 
ing streams  upon  it!  What  a  well-knit,  active 
form— what  a  noble  walk!  How  well  his  rich 
dress  became  him !  He  seemed  himself  to  have 
all  the  luxurious  softness  of  the  velvet.  Anas- 
tasia's  heart  beat  violently,  as  if  it  had  been 
struggling  to  burst  from  her  bosom  and  fly  to- 
•wards  him — it  ultimately  sank  and  fluttered. 
She  admires  him,  she  watches  him  to  the  gate 
like  a  faithful  slave  who  watches  his  master  as 
he  departs — she  devours  his  footsteps.  There 
is  the  clink  of  the  latch — he  is  gone  ....  Her 
heart  dies  away,  as  though  he  were  plunged  into 
eternity.  She  is  sad,  very  sad  ;  she  is  weary  of 
the  light  of  day  ;  but  the  enchanter  returns  .... 
and  Anastasia  await-s  him,  minutes,  hours,  even 
a  whole  day.  The  poor  girl  cannot  eat,  or  if 
she  forces  herself  to  swallow  any  thing,  'tis  only 
to  conceal  from  the  household  her  sickness  of  the 
heart.     Yes,  she  is  ill;  she  is  bewitched. 

Frequently  she  questions  herself  as  to  the 
cause  of  her  sorrow;  she  demands  from  her 
heart  an  account  why  it  loves  a  stranger,  a  her- 
etic, whom  all  good  people  shun,  and  her  sire 
curses ;  whose  religion  was  banned  by  the  fa- 
thers of  the  church.  "  Enchantment !"  cried  her 
conclusions;  "there  neither  Is  nor  can.be  any 
'Other  cause."  Often  she  turns  to  the  Mother  of 
God — with  burning  tears  she  implores  her  to 
save  her  from  the  snares  of  the  tempter.  For 
two  or  three  minutes  she  is  more  easy;  but 
again  the  image  of  the  handsome  foreigner  lives 
before  her  sight,  sits  by  her  side,  and  holds  her 
hand  in  his.  If  she  shuts  her  eyes,  the  very 
same  unearthly  being  which  she  saw  in  the  vis- 
ions of  childhood,  the  very  same,  only  with  the 
glance,  the  smile  of  the  German,  is  lying  at  her 
feet,  folding  its  white  pinions.  She  awakes, 
and  anguish,  like  a  venomed  sting,  is  buried 
deep  in  her  heart.  Sometimes  she  hears  en- 
chanting sounds,  (Antony  was  playing  on  the 
lute;)  there  is  the  celestial  voice;  there  are  the' 
self-sounding  dulcimers  that  in  the  visions  of 
her  infancy  had  rung  so  sweetly  through  her 
ieart. 

Occasionally  Andri6usha  comes  from  the  phy- 
sician to  his  godmother:  her  conversation  was 
upon  one  subject  alone — about  the  enchanter. 
Andriousha  relates  with  warmth  how  good  his 
friend  is,  how  affectionate,  how  feeling;  he  en- 
deavours by  every  kind  of  tender  caresses,  to  [ 
prove  to  her  the  injustice  of  the  evil  reports  about  ■ 
the. leech;  he  swears  by  all  that  is  holiest  in  the  I 
world,  that  Antony  is  not  a  witch,  nor  Tartar  1 
heretic,  but  a  Christian  like  themselves,  only  not  | 
of  the  Russian  faith.     Anastasia  longed  to  be-  | 
lieve,  but  dared  not,  dared  not— could  not.     He 
'.DO   magician!     Why  then   did   she   love   him,  i 
-when  he  had  never  spoken  a  syllable  to  her;  i 
■when  he  had  never  beheld  her — not  even  oncel 
How  could  he  be  a  Christian,  and  not  of  the  Rus-  j 
sian  faith?  and  not  wear  a  cross  on  his  breast  1  j 
The  poor  maiden  could  neither  guess  nor  under-  ! 
stand.     Only  when  Andriousha  prepares  to  re- 
turn to  the  physician,  Anastasia  gives  her  god- 
son a  sweet  farewell  kiss,  and  involuntarily,  with  | 
her  satin-soft  hand,  signs  him  with  the  cross,  j 
Did  she  not  wish  to  send  both  the  caress  and  the  I 


holy  sign  to  the  stranger  1  And  all  her  thoughts 
were  on  the  handsome  foreigner,  and  at  all  times, 
in  all  places,  he — he  alone — was  with  her. 

It  was  decided  that  she  was  sick — that  she  was 
bewitched. 

But  the  young  physician,  entirely  devoted  to 
science,  had  forgotten  that  there  existed  such  a 
person  in  the  world  as  Anastasia. 

Thus  passed  several  weeks. 

The  Feast  of  the  Annunciation  arrived  : 
throughout  the  city  on  every  side  arose  the  sound 
of  bells;  almost  all  the  human  beings  in  the 
boyarin's  quarter  had  crowded  to  the  house  of 
God.  There  remained  at  home  only  Anastasia, 
her  faithful  nurse,  a  few  of  her  women,  and  sev- 
eral other  servants.  The  nurse,  the  maidens,  the 
servants,  every  one  in  his  or  her  own  corner,  had 
lighted  their  tapers  and  were  saying  their  pray- 
ers :  Anastasia  had  finished  her  devotions,  and 
was  seated  by  the  fatal  window.  A  kind  of  holy 
stillness  brooded  over  the  whole  house;  no 
knocking  was  heard  at  the  door,  the  latch  tink- 
led not  at  the  gate,  no  causeless  word  broke  the 
deep  silence.  To  disturb  it  would  have  seemed 
sacrilege.  On  Antony's  side  there  was  the  same 
calm  and  stillness:  he  was  sitting  pensively  at 
the  window.  Was  he  thinking  of  the  prayers 
of  his  fellow-Christians  in  the  cathedrals  of  his 
second  fatherland,  Italy,  the  friendly  pressure  of 
his  learned  preceptor's  hand,  the  enchanting 
smile  and  burning  glances  of  the  maidens,  or 
the  caresses  and  blessings  of  his  mother  1  Did 
he  not  feel  his  rude  exile  from  the  domestic  life 
of  Moscow — his  loneliness  1 

All  was  quiet  in  the  house  as  in  a  desert.  At 
length  he  heard  over-head  footsteps  ....  the  steps 
of  a  virgin,  and  of  one,  as  he  had  been  assured, 
most  lovely,  benevolent,  and  good.  How  many 
attractions  swarm  around  her  I  She  is,  like  him 
— alone.  'Tis  as  though  they  were  alone  in  the 
house— alone  on  earth.  Did  they  not  under- 
stand each  other  ■?  Did  not  their  souls  unite 
through  the  frail  partition  that  divided  theml 
Who  could  tein  ....  He  had  often  told  Andri- 
ousha that-between  them  two  and  Anastasia  there 
existed  a  magic,  threefold  bond.  Why  had  he 
destroyed  this  bond  by  his  indifference  1  Why 
was  not  Andriousha  with  him,  to  talk  about  the 
lovely  Anastasia,  to  let  him  take  from  him  her 
kiss,  her  blessing — again  to  knit  that  threefold 
bond? 

Again  the  bells  rang  out;  the  service  in  some 
of  the  churches  had  concluded. 

Andriousha  appeared  at  his  thought.  This 
time  he  was  announced  by  tne  chirping  and  flut- 
tering of  various  kiads  of  birds.  All  out  of 
breath,  rosy  with  haste,  he  rushed  into  the  cham- 
ber: in  his  hand  he  holds  a  triumphant  trophy 
of  the  solemn  festival,  a  huge  cage  with  a  mul- 
titude of  feathered  inhabitants.  They  were  bul- 
finches,  larks,  and  chaffinches  —  all  harbingers 
of  the  bounteous  spring.  This  was  a  present  to 
Andriousha  from  the  children  of  the  Great 
Prince.  Poor  prisoners,  how  they  beat  against 
their  dungeon  walls! 

"  What  meanest  thou  to  do  with  themi"  said 
Antony. 

"  The  window  ....  open  the  window!"  cried 
the  boy,  with  rapture.  "Dost  thou  not  J<now 
to-day  is  the  Annunciation  1" 

Antony  obeyed  with  pleasure  his  little  friend's 
desire.  The  window  was  opened,  and  through 
it  the  fresh  vernal  air  floated  into  the  room.  The 
sun  threw  into  it  sheaves  of  dazzling  gold,  as  if 
rejoicing  in  the  first  festival  of  the  year.     Hun- 


62 


THE    HERETIC. 


dreds  of  birds  darted  hither  and  thither  through 
the  air,  or  chirped  and  sang  npon  the  trees, 
which  were  now  piuting  forth  their  bads;  others 
■were  perched  on  the  roofs  and  walls.  "  Dost 
thou  not  hear  how  they  keep  holiday  on  their  day 
of  liberty,  as  if  they,  loo,  had  ^lad  tidings  to  tell  1" 
said  Andriousha:  "To-day  they  free  the  winged 
prisoners;  to-day,  too,  they  set  at  liberty  those 
who  have  been  imprisoned  for  debt." 

"  What  a  beautiful  custom  !"♦  said  the  physi- 
cian ;  "it  reconcileth  me  to  the  Russians.  Thy 
father  .speaketh  true ;  beneath  the  coarse  cover- 
ing of  their  manners  lie  concealed  many  excel- 
lent qualities." 

During  this  time  Andriousha  was  opening  the 
doors  of  the  cage. 

"Go  ye,  also,"  he  cried,  "and  bear  glad  ti- 
dings!" and  the  prisoners,  one  struggling  before 
the  other,  hurried  thronging  from  their  confine- 
ment. Many  of  them  instantly  vanished  out  of 
sight ;  others,  as  if  wondering  at  their  unexpect- 
ed liberty,  perched  hard  by,  pruning  their  wings 
and  gazing  around  them.  Only  at  the  bottom 
of  the  cage,  in  a  separate  division,  there  remain- 
ed one  bird.  Andriousha  gazed  at  it  some  time 
with  wistful  indecision.  "This  one  sang  so 
sweetly  all  the  winter  in  my  room,"  he  said,  sor- 
rowfully. 

Antony  replied  not,  but  looked  in  his  face  as 
ifintercedingforthe  poor  prisoner:  the  boy,  with 
the  swiftness  of  lightning  understood  hinn. 

"Tnie,"  he  cried;  "this  little  bard  sang  for 
me  so  long,  that  I  ought  to  be  the  more  ready  to 
release  him.  But  he  must  receive  his  freedom 
from  my  godmother;  he  is  so  pretty  !" 

And  the  boy  disappeared  with  his  precious 
bird. 

In  a  few  minutes  Antony  heard  a  casement 
open  in  the  chamber  over-head;  he  stretched 
himself  as  far  as  he  could  out  of  his  own  win- 
dow, looked  up  ...  .  first,  a  small  white  hand 
waved  in  the  air,  then  a  little  singing-bird  dart- 
ed away  from  it,  and  then  there  was  drawn,  as 
it  were,  against  the  sky,  the  face  of  a  girl,  (nev- 
er in  his  li.*e  had  he  beheld  any  thing  so  lovely), 
and  then  there  fell  upon  his  whole  being  the 
earnest  enchanting  gaze  of  a  pair  of  dark  eyes, 
and  in  a  moment  the  fair  vision  ....  was  gone. 
He  felt  as  if  his  senses  were  departing;  he  seem- 
ed riveted  to  the  spot;  a  dim  mist  darkened  his 
eyes;  when  he  returned  to  himself,  Antony 
strove  to  reduce  his  thoughts  to  order  ....  What 
had  he  seen !  Was  it  a  being  of  earth,  or  a 
dweller  of  the  heavens'?  ....  He  remembered 
the  wondrous  outline  of  the  face,  and  the  soft 
glow  that  seemed  dawning  on  it,  and  the  lan- 
guishing yet  burning  glance,  and  the  long  dark- 
brown  hair  which  fell  carelessly  from  the  win- 
dow, and  the  white  fairy  hand :  all  this  was  gra- 
ven on  his  heart.  We  have  already  said  that 
he  had  never  yet  known  love  for  any  woman — 
the  stronger  therefore  was  the  feeling  that  now 
overwhelmed  him  so  suddenly.  It  was  at  once 
the  sensation  of  loneliness,  of  a  life  in  a  strange 
land,  the  thirst  of  a  burning  soul;  a  soul  loving, 
yet  hitherto  veiled  with  a  covering  of  cold  re- 
serve, by  circumstances — a  thirst  to  unite  with  a 
soul  that  could  understand  him — to  communi- 
cate his  elevated  hopes,  even  though  they  were 
destined  to  be  deceived — his  aspirations  towards 
.ill  that  was  noble— to  share  all  this  with  a  liv- 


*  This  lieautiriil  niii'um  in  mill  krpt  up  in  many  iwrti!  of 
Russia.  .Small  liinls  nrn  suineliinvs  snnod  up  alive,  in  ]>ic- 
cniHt,  BO  lliut  "  when  the  pie  is  f<))vnc<l  the  liirjs  begin  to 
sing,'*  as  tl*"  tiiirB/.».i.  rKvmf.  >i«i>i  it  — T   n   s 


cry  rhyme  haih  it.— T.  D.  S. 


ing  being.  The  fountain  had  been  concealed  for 
ages  beneath  a  ponderous  rock;  the  rock  was 
struck  by  the  thunderbolt,  and  the  fount  burst 
forth  like  living  silver.  Stop  its  flowing  if  ye 
can !  This  was  love,  such  as  is  felt  for  the  first 
and  last  time  by  strong  and  extraordinary  minds. 
"Perhaps,  too,  it  was  the  love  of  romance,"  you 
say— you  may  add,  'twas  the  love  of  the  fifteenth 
cpntur}-;  a  century  marked  with  the  distinctive 
stamp  of  the  marvellous,  and  which  had  not  yet 
thrown  off  its  iron  panoply,  tempered  in  the  fire 
of  chivalry. 

From  this  time  Anastasia  was  no  longer  to 
Antony  a  mere  creature  of  the  imagination — that 
name  was  no  longer  a  union  of  empty  sounds, 
a  mere  word.  In  her  was  joined  all  earthly  and 
heavenly  loveliness,  purity,  goodne.=.s,  intellect, 
strength  of  soul.  In  her  person  he  glorified  na- 
ture, humanity,  God  himself  She  was  his  tie 
to  Russia;  his  ark  of  life  and  death.  From  this 
time  his  solitude  was  peopled;  it  was  inhabited 
by  Anastasia.  His  love  was  uncalculating,  un- 
reasoning ;  it  was  wholly  in  its  source — the 
heart.  Reason  had  no  part  in  it ;  it  was  pure, 
as  the  cloudless  heaven.  No  dark  thought  or 
intention  troubled  this  sentiment;  he  desired  no- 
thing but  to  behold  Anastasia — but  to  look  upon 
her.  The  fear,  however,  of  wounding  her,  of 
drawing  suspicion  upon  her,  quenched  this  desire 
within  him.  He  never  again  ventured  to  open 
the  window  beneath  her  chamber:  it  might  be 
remarked  by  her  father,  her  brother,  the  neigh- 
bours; they  might  think  some  evil  of  the  maid- 
en. But  he  often  listened — did  not  the  window 
tinkle  over  head  1     No ;  all  was  still. 

On  entering  or  quitting  the  house  he  never 
again  saw  Anastasia;  but  once,  on  returning 
home,  he  found  on  the  .=:teps  a  branch  which  had 
been  thrown  from  above  ;  a  parrot's  feather, 
which  had  been  presented  by  Sophia  Phomi- 
nishna  to  the  Great  Prince's  little  favourite,  and 
had  passed  from  Andrea  to  the  boyarin's  daugh- 
ter ;  and  once  he  found  a  riband  from  her  hair. 
He  knew  from  whence  came  these  precious 
things ;  he  understood  their  speechless  language, 
and  in  his  happiness  he  prized  them  higher  than 
all  the  favours  of  Iran  Vassilievitch. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    FUGITIVE. 

And  Ivan  Vassilievitch  did  show  marked  fa- 
vour to  the  physician.  At  one  time  he  would 
.send  him  a  gracions  message;  at  another,  a 
command  to  brhohl  his  royal  eyes,  or  a  dish  from 
his  table,  or  a  piece  of  German  cloth  for  clothes. 
He  frequently  had  conversations  with  him.  An- 
tony began  to  express  himself  tolerably  well  in 
Russian :  he,  however,  still  employed  an  inter- 
preter; generally  Andriousha  or  Aristotle,  who 
delighted  with  all  his  sn:l  in  the  advancement 
of  his  brother's  pupil.  These  conversations 
were  generally  about  the  affairs  of  Italy,  so  well 
known  to  EhVenstein.  The  Great  Prince  was 
particularly  fond  of  hearing  accounts  how  the 
Roman  Empire,  once  so  mighty,  was  withering 
away,  divided  into  petty  republics  ;  and  from 
these  relations  his  strength  of  character  enabled 
him  to  draw  a  lesson  profitable  to  himself  Anto- 
ny informed  him  in  what  order,  at  no  very  remote 
period,  there  had  been  establixheii  a  post-office, 
first  in  France,  and  afterwards  in  the  German 
states.     Ivan  Vassilievitch  introduced  into  his 


THE    HERETIC. 


own  country  posts  and  stations.     Antony  ex- 
plained to  him  other  new  inventions  in  Europe, 
and  the  Great  Prince  prepared  to  profit  by  them  I 
on  the  first  opportunity. 

By  such  inlluence  and  meditation  as  that  of 
Antony,  the  contemporary  and  powerful  devel- 
opment of  civilization  in  the  West,  found  in  the 
clear-sighted  soul  of  Ivan  an  echo,  rude  indeed, 
uncalculating,  hardly  recognizing  its  own  pow- 
ers of  the  spirit  of  improvement  that  spoke 
through  the  daughter  of  Palaeologos,  the  Gterman 
and  Russian  ambassadors,  the  artists,  the  physi- 
cians, and  travellers.  In  the  West,  dexterity 
exhibited  in  the  cabinets  of  sovereigns;  discus- 
sions carried  on  through  accredited  envoys  ;  an 
active  school  and  arena  for  subtle  and  crafty  in- 
tellects, which  jiad  received  the  designation  of 
"politics,"  or  "diplomacy,"  had  begun  to  take 
the  place  of  armies.  These  arms  were  skilfully 
wielded  by  Ivan  Vassilieviich  also ;  the  other 
nations  and  sovereigns  were  beginning  to  con- 
centrate their  power;  the  same  thing  was  done 
by  the  Russian  Great  Prince  when  he  united  his 
provinces  into  one  whole.  There  the  idea  of 
royal  power  enveloped  itself  in  solemn  and 
splendid  ceremonies  and  forms,  acting  through 
them  upon  the  feelings  of  the  mass.  The  court 
precedence,  kissing  of  hands,  magnificent  recep- 
tions of  foreign  ambassadors,  banquets,  ranks, 
heraldry,  titles,  give  form  to  this  idea  even 
among  us.  In  the  West  the  system  of  regular 
warfare  was  established.  Ivan  was  also  institu- 
ting regiments.  1  have  already  alluded  to  the  in- 
troduction of  posts.  We  have  seen,  too,  how  the 
spirit  of  intellectual  inquisitiveness,  which  gave 
to  the  fifteenth  century  Wicliffe,  Huss,  and  last- 
ly, Luther,  had  been  communicated  to  our  Rus- 
sia under  the  form  of  the  Jewish  heresy:  in  a 
word,  the  then  life  of  Europe,  though  under 
coarser  forms,  has  descended  even  to  us.  It  is 
not  my  business  to  explain  here  why  that  life, 
after  Ivan  III.,  did  not  receive  among  us  a  grad- 
ual development,  and  one  which  led  to  more  im- 
portant and  specific  results. 

We  have  seen  that  Ivan  Vassilievitch  was 
concentrating  the  power  of  his  throne  and  of 
Russia.  Tver  separated  him  from  the  northern 
provinces :  he  determined,  by  fair  means  or  foul, 
to  annihilate  this  barrier,  and  to  unite  the  heart 
of  Rnssia  with  its  northern  members.     Having 

Previously  secured  confidential  partisans  in 
Ver,  and  having  discovered,  as  we  have  seen 
in  the  first  part  of  our  romance,  a  pretext  for 
declaring  war  against  its  prince,  Ivan  Vassilie- 
vitch was  assembling  troops,  in  order  to  over- 
throw, by  one  effort,  the  power  he  had  so  long 
been  undermining  by  artifice. 
All  the  land  of  Russia  began  to  be  moved. 
While  the  armament  of  Moscow  was  prepar- 
ing for  the  campaign,  another  body  of  troops 
was  ordered  from  Novgorod.  The  Russian,  in 
the  time  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch,  had  more  than 
once  tasted  military  glory.  There  were  there- 
fore, on  the  present  occasion,  a  multitude  of 
volunteers  eager  to  seek  it.  The  direction  of 
the  artillery  was  confided  to  Aristotle,  who  was 
torn  away  for  this  purpose  from  his  great  work. 
The  artist  once  more  had  to  transform  himself 
into  an  engineer. 

In  order  that  this  army  might  be  committed  to 
a  worthy  leader,  they  were  awaiting  at  Moscow 
the  celebrated  voevoda,  the  Prince  Daniel  Dmi- 
tri! Kholmskii,  whom  a  sickness,  real  or  pre- 
tended, had  detained  in  his  distant  possessions. 
Pretended,  I  say,  and  no  wonder,  as  he  was  a 


Tveritchanin  (native  of  Tver)  by  birth:  a  de- 
scendant of  the  princes  of  Tver,  and  must  obvi- 
ously have  been  unwilling  to  obey  his  sover- 
eign's command  in  going  against  his  native 
land. 

The  court  physician  also  was  commanded  to 
mount  on  horseback.  His  duty  attached  him  to 
the  person  of  the  Great  Prince,  who  intended 
himself  to  accompany  the  army.  Ivan  Vassi- 
lievitch, under  the  shield  of  his  general,  desired 
to  earn  for  himself  the  title  of  "conqueror  of 
Tver."  It  was  with  delight  that  Ehrenstein  re- 
ceived this  order,  which  would  give  him  the- 
means  of  in  some  measure  distracting  his 
thoughts  from  Anasiasia,  and  offered  him  the 
hope  of  being  serviceable  to  the  cause  of  human- 
ity. With  these  hopes  also  mingled  his  inborn 
spirit  of  chivalry,  which  was  to  be  appeased 
neither  by  education  nor  by  the  modest  pacific 
professioQ  of  the  leech.  Nature,  in  spile  of  him- 
self, attracted  him  towards  that  destiny  from 
which  he  had  been  torn  by  the  vengeance  of 
Fioraventi.  These  hopes  were  also  cherished 
by  Aristotle,  who  coveted  for  his  brother's  pupil 
new  honours  and  new  advantages. 

After  a  day  passed  in  the  squares  where  the 
troops  were  mustering,  Antony  had  lain  down, 
but  could  not  sleep  ;  whether  it  was  that  he  was 
agitated  by  the  thoughts  of  Anastasia,  whose 
form  flitted  before  him  like  a  fair  enchanting 
vision,  or  of  the  expedition,  which  was  repre- 
sented by  his  ardent  imagination,  his  noble  heart, 
as  an  enchanting  picture.  Suddenly,  in  the 
midst  of  these  reveries,  which  prevented  him 
from  sleeping,  he  heard  strange  cries  in  the 
street.  They  shouted— "Seize  him  1  seize  him f 
hither,  here,  this  way!  To  Obrazetz's  palace: 
we  will  answer  for  him  with  our  heads  !" 

Antony  opened  the  window  towards  the  street : 
the  night  was  .so  dark,  that  the  city  seemed  buried 
in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  ;  objects  were  all  fused 
into  one  black  mass  ;  he  could  just  distinguish 
the  movements  of  several  figures,  at  one  mo- 
ment leaping  over  the  railing  or  grate,  at  an- 
other vanishing  into  the  gloom :  he  followed 
them  rather  by  ear  than  by  sight. 

But  look!  something  is  moving  close  to  the 
house  ....  something  scrambles  up  the  wall, 
and,  before  him  is  a  tall,  an  unusually  tall  fig- 
ure, blocking  up  almost  the  whole  window.  It 
must  have  required  superhuman  strength  and 
activity  to  climb  up  the  wall  to  such  a  height: 
this  thought,  and  the  unexpectedness  of  the  ap- 
parition, caused  Antony,  at  the  first  moment  of 
surprise,  to  start  back  in  alarm.  "  Save  me,  in 
the  name  of  God,  save  me !"  said  the  unknown, 
in  a  low  voice ;  and  without  waiting  for  an  an- 
swer, he  leaped  into  the  room  with  such  violence 
and  suddenness,  that  he  almost  knocked  the  phy- 
sician off  his  feet ;  and  then  cautiously  closed 
the  window. 

Antony  knew  not  what  to  think  of  this  appa- 
rition—nor had  he  time.  The  tall  figure  stands 
before  him  as  if  mounted  on  stilts,  feels  him  all 
over,  seizes  him  by  the  hand,  presses  it,  and 
pantingly  exclaims,'in  a  low  voice — "  Save  me  ! 
....  the  constables  are  after  me  ...  .  they 
would  put  me  in  chains.  My  friend  ....  but 
art  thou  he  ....  or  Ivan  Khabar  1" 

"No!  but 'tis  all  the  same  ....  what  wouldst 
thou  1"  replied  the  leech,  guessing  that  the  un- 
happy man,  flying  from  pursuit,  was  seeking 
to  conceal  himself  in  the  house  of  his  friend 
Obrazetz.  A  friend  of  the  voevoda,  he  thought^ 
cannot  be  a  bad  man. 


64 


THE    HERETIC. 


"  No !  .  .  .  .  great  Heaven !  who  art  thou, 
then !  .  .  .  .  Ah,  I  understand  ....  the  Ger- 
man leech  ....  I  am  lost !" 

And,  as  he  spoke,  he  took  a  step  back,  as 
though  he  were  about  to  throw  himself  out  of 
the  window. 

Antony  held  him  back,  and  said,  with  extra- 
ordinary force  and  earnestness,  in  as  good  Rus- 
sian as  he  could  .  .  .  .  "  Yes,  I  am  the  leech ; 
but  I  am  a  Christian  too,  as  well  as  the  Russians. 
Fear  nothing.  Trust  In  me  in  the  name  of  the 
Mother  of  God." 

"  "Well,  in  the  name  of  the  Mother  of  God. 
By  thy  voice  I  feel  that  thou  art  no  traitor. 
Now  I  will  tell  thee  :  I  am — the  voevoda  Prince 
Kholmskii ;  perhaps  thou  hast  heard  of  meT' 

•'  Arisi'Ctle  hath  told  me  much  of  the  famous 
•conqueror  of  Mov'^"'^^'^-" 

"  And  that  conqueror,  at  the  command  of  the 
Great  Prince,  they  are  now  chasiJ^j  •  .-  •  ;  'hey 
would  chain  him,  they  would  throw  hiu2  '"'o  ^ 
dungeon!" 

"  How  so  1  They  expect  thee  even  now  from 
thy  possessions,  to 'entrust  to  thee  the  army  of 
Moscow,  which  is  going  against  Tver." 

"  I  arrived,  was  with  Ivan  Vassilievitch  .  .  . 
Tver  is  my  native  land  ....  I  refused  to  go 
....  But  hark  !  They  are  knocking  at  the 
gate  as  if  the  fire  bell  were  ringing.  Save  me 
from  the  fetters,  from  deep  shame  !" 

"  Oh,  if  it  be  so,  I  will  save  thee,  even  if  I 
have  to  pay  for  it  with  my  life  !  It  is  only  across 
my  dead  body  that  they  shall  reach  thee." 

In  reality,  they  were  knocking  at  the  gate  till 
the  very  walls  of  the  house  trembled:  they 
shouted — "  Open  the  gate  ....  In  the  name  of 
the  Lord  Great  Prince,  open!  ....  or  we  will 
beat  it  in  !" 

The  knocks,  shouting,  and  uproar,  increased 
every  moment. 

All  in  the  house  were  fast  asleep — all  were 
thrown  into  confusion,  and  started  to  their  feet: 
the  boyarin,  his  daughter,  and  the  servants, 
doorkeepers,  falconers,  poultrymen,  seneschals, 
cooks,  grooms,  firelighters,  gardeners,  tirewom- 
en, &c. — all  that  compo.sed  the  household  of  a 
boyarin  in  those  days.  The  men  rushed,  panic- 
stricken,  in  all  directions,  as  if  the  house  were 
on  fire  ;  questioning  one  another  about  the  cause 
of  the  disturbance,  lighting  tapers,  and  jostling 
€ach  other.  They  heard  the  name  of  the  Great 
Prince,  and  thought  that  he  was  perhaps  come 
himself  to  seize  their  master,  in  consequence  of 
Kome  denunciation.  The  boyarin  was  alarmed, 
expecting  something  extraordinary,  and  had  re- 
course in  prayer  to  the  heavenly  Mediatress ; 
Anastasia  was  half  dead  with  terror;  her  broth- 
er was  not  at  home,  he  was  passing  a  night  of 
debauch  somewhere. 

In  the  meantime  Antony  was  actively  em- 
ployed. 

In  his  room  stood  a  huge  cupboard,  in  which 
he  kepi  his  drugs.  Out  with  the  boxes  and  bot- 
tles— in  with  the  prisoner! 

"Speak!  canst  thou  breathe  freely  1" 

"  Cluite  freely," 

The  prisoner  crouched  down  on  his  hams; 
but  even  thus  there  was  not  room  for  him. 
What  was  to  be  done  !...."  Pown  on  thy 
knees!     So, 'tis  well.     God  be  with  thee !" 

The  doors  are  locked,  the  boxes  and  bottles 
under  the  bed. 

In  this  miserable  cupboard,  then,  which  served 
«  heretic  to  keep  his  drugs  in,  in  humble  atti- 
tude, was  placed  the  grandson  of  Vs^volod  An- 


dreevitch  of  Tver  —  the  far-famed  leader,  the 
hero  of  Shel6n,  the  conqueror  of  N6vgorod  and 
Kazen,  the  brightest  gem  in  Ivan's  crown,  ihe 
glory  and  honour  of  Russia  ;  the  man  who  made 
a  thousand  warriors,  the  enemies  of  his  coun- 
try, fly  before  him;  who,  standing  at  the  head 
of  his  troops  before  the  terrible  Akhmet,  in  that 
moment  which  decided  the  fate  of  Russia,  would 
not  listen  to  the  commands  of  his  stern  sovereign 
to  retreat — now  so  dreaded  the  wrath  of  Ivan 
Vassilievitch,  that  he  concealed  himself  in  a 
German's  cupboard. 

At  the  name  of  the  Great  Prince  they  opened 
the  gate.  The  boyarin  Mamon  was  there  with 
the  party.  He  was  to  be  found  every  where, 
where  there  was  to  be  an  execution  of  a  cruel 
order;  when  his  bad  heart  could  find  employ- 
ment worthy  of  itself.  Above  all,  he  was  every 
where  to  be  found  where  he  could  find  an  oppor- 
tunity to  revenge  himself  on  his  enemicj.  At 
the  head  of  the  constables  and  the  guards,  he  ex- 
plained to  Obraz^tz's  domestics,  that,  in  obedi- 
ence to  tiic  ortlers  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch,  he  had 
come  to  seize  the  PrmuC  Daniel  Dmitrieviich 
Kholmskii;  that  they  had  traced  hrm  I'iC^  ^is 
own  house  to  the  boyarin's  palace,  and  that  he 
could  be  concealed  nowhere  but  there.  One  of 
the  constables  bore  in  his  hand  a  chain  with 
which  to  confine  the  fugitive.  Mamon  demand- 
ed, in  the  Great  Prince's  name,  that  they  should 
permit  him  to  make  search  throughout  the  whole 
house. 

Could  Obrazetz  dare  to  oppose  the  dreaded 
awful  name!  —  Obrazetz,  wno  venerated  that 
name  after  the  old  fashion,  as  commanded  by 
his  parent^;  who  enshrined  it  in  bis  heart  like 
the  commandment  of  God  ! 

The  constables  and  guards,  in  a  crowd,  led  by 
the  exulting  Mamon,  burst  into  the  palace  like 
enemies,  snatched  the  tapers  from  the  slaves' 
hands,  thundering,  shouting,  clanking  chains, 
penetrating  every  where,  in  the  chambers,  the  an- 
terooms, oratory,  and  audience-chamber,  courts, 
gardens,  and  uninhabited  buildings  ;  peering 
about,  clattering  their  swords,  turning  every 
thing  upside  dowm.  Even  as  far  as  Anasta.sia's 
chamber  penetrated  the  disorderly  rout.  But 
here  they  encountered  a  barrier — virgin  modes- 
ty, protected  by  a  father's  and  brother's  love. 
Here,  at  the  door  of  this  chamber,  Mamon's  ap- 
proach was  awaited  by  old  Obrazetz  himself 
and  by  his  son,  who  had  hastened  home  at  the 
first  information  of  a  trusty  servant.  Both  were 
armed.  They  were  surrounded  by  a  few  of  their 
bravest  followers  with  axes  and  clubs,  who 
seemed  ready,  at  the  first  look  of  their  master, 
to  send  into  the  other  world,  unhesitatingly, 
whomsoever  that  look  should  point  out.  At 
sight  of  this  living  barrier  Mamon's  steps  falter- 
ed :  he  stopj>ed  before  it  with  his  train. 

"  God  sce'ih,"  said  Obrazetz  firmly,  "  that  the 
Prince  Kholmskii  neither  is,  nor  can  be,  in  ray 
daughter's  chamber.  Make  but  one  step  in  ad- 
vance, Mamon,  and  (the  old  man  trembled)  thou 
wilt  lead  me  into  the  sin  of  bloodshed." 

"  What,  do  we  meet  again,  my  branderl"  said 
Mamon,  with  a  hellish  laugh. 

The  thick  white  brows  of  the  voevwla  began 
to  knit  ;  the  flash  of  his  contracting  eye  glared 
upon  his  foe,  and  seemed  to  pierce  him  through. 
With  his  gigantic  knotty  hand  he  convulsively 
clutched  his  blade,  his  breast  heaved  like  a  tem- 
pest billow,  and  giving  utterance  to  a  kind  of  in- 
articulate sound,  sank  again.  The  boyurin's 
rage  was  appeased  by  the  thought  that  blood 


THE    HERETIC. 


65 


-would  be  spilt  near  his  daughter's  chamber. 
He  saw  the  gesture  of  his  son's  arm,  seized  his 
iand,  and  prevented  a  fatal  blow. 

Mamon  perceived  this  terrible  by-play— he 
liastened  to  depart. 

"  We  have  not  yet  been  to  the  leech's  cham- 
ber," said  he,  preparing  to  descend  the  stairs. 

"Go  there,  and  to  the  devil,  or  to  thy  mother 
the  witch;  and  if  thou  make  not  the  more  haste, 
beware  lest  thou  leave  thine  accursed  bones 
here !"  cried  Khabar-Simskii  after  him. 

Mamon  stopped,  and  contemptuously  shaking 
his  head,  expressed  his  rage  in  a  laugh,  redhot 
irom  hell. 

"  Father,  let  me" cried  Khab;'i,  frantic  with 

fury. 

Obrazetz  again  stopped  him,  and  said  with  en- 
ergy— "Hold,  my  son!  Where  thou  wilt;  but 
-not  here,  by  thy  sister's  chamber." 

"Dost  thou  hear  1"  was  Simskii's  question, 
full  of  the  thirst  of  vengeance. 

"Ay,  we  hear!"  was  the  sullen  reply  of  Ma- 
mon. 

The  knocking,  the  running  through  the  house, 
the  shouting,  the  steps  over-head  at  Anastasia's 
chamber — all  these  had  echoed  deeply  into  the 
ears  and  heart  of  Ehrenstein,  who  was  trembling 
from  his  ignorance  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 
hoyirin's  family.  He  would  have  given  much 
to  have  been  there:  over-head  all  grew  still — 
ihe  noise  seemed  to  come  in  his  direction.  It 
approached  nearer  and  nearer.  They  knock  at 
Ihe  door  of  his  hall — he  strikes  a  light. 

What  a  misfortune — what  an  agony !  Traces 
nf  huge  feet  which  had  lately  been  through  mud 
were  marked  on  the  floor,  and  led,  like  a  path, 
■straight  to  the  cupboard. 

What  is  to  be  donel  ....  clothes,  towels — 
•every  thing  that  comes  to  hand — down  on  the 
/loor  with  them — the  fatal  traces  are  annihilated 
—God  be  thanked  ! 

He  turns  towards  the  door — he  listens.  Some- 
thing within  the  cupboard  fails  down  with  such 
■violence  that  the  doors  tremble— then  a  death 
Jattle,  then 
.grave  ? 

Antony's  heart  sank  within  him;  his  hair 
bristled  up. 

What  if  Kholmskii,  overwhelmed  by  the 
thought  of  the  Great  Prince's  anger,  by  the  fear 
-of  imprisonment  and  execution,  agonized  with 
.terror,  exhausted  by  the  rapidity  of  his  flight, 
the  exertions  of  climbing  up  the  wall — by  all 
that  had  come  upon  him  at  once,  so  terribly  and 
unexpectedly ;  what  if  he  had  yielded  up  his  life 
....  perhaps  he  had  been  suffocated  in  the 
cupboard  —  perhaps  a  fit  of  apoplexy  ....  it 
"was  horrible ! 

They  would  find  the  Prince  Kholmskii  dead 
in  the  leech;?  chamber  ....  what  would  re- 
port say!  ...  .  already  he  had  the  character 
of  being  a  necromancer.  They  would  call  him 
.1  murderer:  they  would  demand  his  head.  The 
.sovereigns,  incensed  by  the  concealment  of  the 
fugitive,  would  give  him  up  to  the  people :  An- 
tony knew  what  sort  of  thing  was  an  infuriate 
populace — the  rage  of  a  wild  beast  is  nothing  to 
its  cruelty.  He  was  willing  to  meet  and  battle 
Avith  death  by  the  bedside  of  the  sufferer— he 
■was  ready  to  go  even  to  an  unmerited  block; 
he  was  ready  to  go  to  the  battle  at  the  call  of 
duly  ;  but  death,  in  the  talons  of  a  frantic  mob- 
that  was  dreadful!  And,  what  \vas  still  more 
.horrible,  he  would  be  the  unwilling  cause  of  a 
fellow-creature's  death  .  ,  ,  . 


xh,  and  then  the  silence  of  the 


To  look  into  the  cupboard,  to  make  trial  of 
n)edical  remedies,  was  an  impossibility:  the 
knocking  grew  momentarily  more  violent.  To 
delay  opening  the  door  would  be  to  attract  sus- 
picion on  himself,  and  render  the  search  more 
strict.  Who  can  tell !  They  may  break  opea 
I  he  door,  and  then  they  will  find  him  face  to 
lace  with  the  fugitive  I 
But  Kholmskii  perhaps  was  still  alive'. 
Neither  reason,  nor  strength  of  mind,  nor 
muscles — noiliing  human  could  save  him.  Only 
God,  God  alone:  all  his  trust  is  in  him  ! 

Agony  is  in  his  heart:  yet  Antony  endeavours 
to  compose  his  features  as  circumstances  re- 
quire. A  stiletto  under  his  arm,  a  lamp  in  his 
hand,  and  he  opens  the  door  of  the  hall. 
Before  him  is  Mamon  and  his  rout. 
"  What  would  ye  with  me  at  this  hour  of 
night  1"  sternly  asked  Antony. 

"  Be  not  offended,  Master  Leech,"  replied 
Mamon,  bowing  courteously:  "by  the  Great 
Prince's  order,  we  are  seeking  an  important 
fugitive.  He  hath  fled  hither  to  the  boyarin's 
palace,  and  is  hidden  here.  One  of  our  people, 
methinks,  said  but  now  that  he  heard  Kholmskii 
climb  the  wall — that  thy  window  opened"  .... 
"  'Tis  false !"  interrupted  Ehrenstein ;  "  climb ! 
his  eyes  must  have  been  dazzled  ....  I  am  no 
harbourer  of  runaways  ....  What  is  the 
meaning  of  this  insult?  ....  Who  said  that? 
....  I  will  complain  to  the  Great  Prince." 

"'Twas  not  I;"  "nor  I,"  "nor  1,"  cried  a 
number  of  voices,  among  which  was  that  of  the 
informer  himself  They  thought  that  they  had 
been  tricked  by  the  evil  spirit.  They  knew  in 
what  high  favour  the  sovereign  held  the  leech, 
and  they  dreaded  the  wrath  of  Ivan  Vassilie- 
vitch,  for  unnecessarily  disturbing  his  favour- 
ite's repose.  They  dreaded,  too,  the  vengeance 
of  the  heretic  sorcerer  himself,  who,  they  were 
more  certain  than  ever,  was  a  magician,  from 
his  having  learned  to  express  himself  in  Rus- 
sian so  soon — and  as  there  was  no  longer  any 
testimony  of  the  fugitive  having  been  seen  at 
his  window,  Mamon,  for  reasons  of  his  own, 
did  not  insist. 

"  However,"  said  Antony,  "not  to  leave  you 
in  suspicion,  I  ask,  I  demand,  a  search." 

And  Mamon,  followed  by  two  constables, 
glancing  fearfully  around  them,  and  muttering  a 
prayer,  entered  the  leech's  bed-chamber. 

Every  place  was  searched — on  the  bed — under 
the  bed — in  every  corner.  Mamon  went  up  to 
the  closed  cupboard;  and  listened  at  it  with  a 
greedy  ear.  Ehrenstein  collected  all  his  cour- 
age and  presence  of  mind,  not  to  betray  his  agi- 
tation. Nay,  he  even  smiled,  though  he  felt  as 
if  his  heart  were  beating  like  a  hammer  on  an 
anvil. 
Now,  if  the  boyarin  should  require  the  door 

to  be  opened If  Kholmskii  be  only  in  a 

swoon,  and  should  come  to  himself  just  at  the 
moment  when  Mamon  is  listening — if  he  should 

groan — or  even  sigh 

Being    in  no   condition    to    account   for  his 
movements,  Antony  steals  his  hand  nearer  and 
nearer  his  stiletto. 
All  is  silent ;  no  one  moves. 
"  There  is  no  one !"  said   Mamon,  after  a 
pause. 

"  There  is  no  one  I"  repeated  the  constable.s, 
in  a  tremulous  voice. 
"  Where  can  he  have  hidden  himself!" 
"  Let  us  search  round  the  house." 
And  the  rout  streamed  confusedly  out  of  the 


66 


THE    HERETIC. 


leech's  chamber,  with  divers  strange  remarks. 
One  man  had  seen  human  bones  pounded  in  a 
mortar;  another,  bottles  full  of  blood  ;  a  third,  a 
child's  head  (God  knows  what  it  was  that  fear 
had  exhibited  to  him  under  this  form)  ;  a  fourth 
had  heard 'the  Evil  One  answer  their  voices  out 
of  a  kind  of  box  that  hung  upon  the  wall  (prob- 
ably from  the  lute).  Poor  devils  !  They  were 
lucky  to  escape  safe  and  sound. 

God  be  praised— the  searchers  were  gone !  An- 
tony listens— the  latch  of  the  gate  clinks  .... 
the  gate  slams  to  ...  .  curses  are  heard  on 
Obrazetz,  on  Kholmskii.  A  minute  or  two 
more,  and  all  again  relumed  to  profound  still- 
ness. 

The  door  is  locked,  a  sheet  spread  before  the 
window  ....  his  trembing  hand,  leeling  for 
the  lock,  with  difiiculty  opens  the  cupboard. 

Before  Antony's  eyes  lay  an  old  man  of  ex- 
traordinary .stature,  doubled  up  in  a  small  space : 
he  was  on  his  knees;  his  head  bent  closely 
down,  supported  against  the  side  planks  of  the 
cupboard.  His  face  was  not  visible,  but  the 
leech  guessed  that  the  head  belonged  to  an  aged 
person,  as  the  black  of  his  hair  was  thickly 
mingled  with  threads  of  silver.  Not  the  slight- 
est motion  could  be  perceived  in  him.  "With 
great  toil  Antony  relieved  the  man  or  the  corpse 
from  his  constrained  altitude,  and  with  still 
greater  labour  lifted  him  on  his  bed. 

To  the  pulse  !— God  be  thanked,  it  beats, 
though  faintly,  faintly,  like  a  feeble  echo  of  life 
from  a  distant  world.  This  symptom  restores 
to  the  physician  his  skill,  his  reason,  his  strength, 
all  that  had  been  on  the  point  of  leaving  him. 
The  remedies  are  instantly  employed,  and 
Kholmskii  opens  his  eyes.  For  a  long  time  he 
could  not  understand  his  condition;  where  he 
was,  what  had  happened  to  him.  At  length, 
aided  by  his  reluming  powers  and  the  explana- 
tions of  the  leech,  he  was  able  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  his  position.  Touched  by  Antony's 
generous  assistance  so  deeply  as  to  forget  that 
he  was  a  heretic,  he  thanked  him  with  tears  in 
liis  eyes. 

"  The  Lord  will  repay  thy  kindness,"  said  he; 
"Ah!  if  thou  wouldst  but  take  our  faith,"  add- 
ed the  voevoda,  "  I  would  give  thee  whichever 
of  my  daughters  thou  wouldst." 

It  was  not  till  now  tiiat  Antony  could  exam- 
ine his  exterior,  which  was  powerfully  mould- 
ed. The  lines  of  his  face  were  harsh,  strongly 
marked,  but  at  the  same  time  expressive  of 
grandeur  and  nobleness  of  soul !  Though  on 
what  had  wellnigh  been  his  death-bed,  and  men- 
aced by  the  axe  of  his  powerful  sovereign,  ready 
that  very  moment  to  descend  upon  his  head — 
though  only  just  recovering  from  a  first  and  un- 
expected blow — he  seemed  as  calm  as  if,  after 
a  laborious  day,  he  were  reposing  beneath  a 
hospitable  roof.  The  voevoda's  life  was  saved; 
his  liberty  was  secured — but  for  how  long"? 
Who  could  answer  for  that  1  It  was  necessary 
to  find  the  means  either  of  delivering  him  en- 
tirely from  the  persecutions  of  the  Great  Prince, 
or  of  concealing  him  from  them  for  a  lime,  un- 
til the  ruler's  wralh  was  overpa.st.  Ehrenslein 
firmly  resolved  in  his  own  mind  to  underlalu" 
ilio  task  of  propitiating  Ivan  Vassilievitcli,  as 
well  by  his  own  personal  influence  as  by  thai 
of  the  powerful  Aristotle.  In  doing  this,  the 
greatest  circumspection  would  be  necessary. 
Obrazetz  alone  could  hope  to  conceal  tor  a  short 
time  so  distinguished  a  fugitive.  But  how  to 
convey  Kholmskii  to  the  boyarin  now,  in  the 


night-time.  Weakened  by  loss  of  blood,  the- 
voevoda  was  in  no  condition  to  walk  without 
help,  and  even  frith  assistance,  there  was  no 
possibility  of  getting  him  over  the  enclosure 
which  divided  theboyarin's  court-yard  from  the 
heretic's  quarter.  To  conduct  him  round  by  the 
street  and  through  the  two  gales,  was  not  to  be 
thought  of  To  knock  at  the  door  in  order  to 
obtain  entrance  to  the  boyarin  was  fraught  with 
danger.  Who  could  be  sure  of  Mamon  not 
having  set  a  watch  round  the  house  1  But 
time  flies.  The  .second  cocks  had  proclaimed 
to  the  city  that  midnight  was  come :  it  would  be 
impossible  to  defer  the  voevoda's  removal  till 
morning;  for  then  the  physician's  servant  would 
appear  from  the  ground-floor,  and  visitors  would, 
present  themselves.  Nor  was  it  to  be  thought 
of  again  to  conceal  the  voevoda  in  the  cupboard, 
and  again  to  begin  the  frightful  process,  a  repe- 
tition of  which  might  cost  one  or  the  other  of 
them  his  life. 

It  was,  however,  necessary  to  decide  on  some- 
thing or  other,  and  Antony  determined  to  get  over 
to  the  boyarin's  side  by  any  means  he  could  think 
of:  the  expedition  was  not,  at  least,  a  distant 
one,  however  diflicull  it  might  be  rendered  by 
the  barriers  interposed  between  the  two  sides. 
Providing  himself,  therefore,  with  his  trusty  po- 
niard, which  he  stuck  into  his  girdle,  he  seized 
a  shesiopeor,  a  kind  of  mace  armed  at  the  end 
with  a  number  of  metal  spikes ;  this  was  a  pres- 
ent from  Aristotle,,  and  had  been  taken  in  the 
war  against  Novgorod.  In  addition  to  this, 
Kholmskii  gave  him  a  signet-ring :  a  ring  with  his 
family  crest,  which  served  as  a  seal  in  the  attes- 
tation of  important  acts  :  he  carried  it  always  on 
his  finger.  On  the  present  occasion  this  ring  was 
intended  to  assure  Obrazetz  that  the  physician 
was  really  an  ambassador  from  his  old  friend 
and  companion  in  arms.  With  these  tveapons 
for  war  and  peace,  Antony  addressed  himself  to 
his  expedition,  not  forgetting  lo  lock  his  door  on 
the  distinguished  stranger. 

The  first  attempt  he  made  was  upon  the  fence, 
which,  as  we  have  said,  divided  the  boyarin's 
court-yard  from  ihat  of  the  heretic.  Youth  and 
determination  will  do  wonders,  and  with  their 
assistance  he  passed  this  barrier — that  is,  he 
clambered  over  it ;  not,  however,  without  paying 
for  his  attempt  by  several  slight  bruises,  and  the 
loss  of  divers  Iragments  of  his  dress.  How  his 
heart  beat  as  he  found  himself  entering  the  coirrt 
of  the  boyarin  for  the  first  lime,  at  midnight,  like 
a  thief— the  dwelling  of  one  who  cherished  to- 
ward him  an  unmerited  abhorrence  and  hatred. 
The  light  of  a  lamp  was  trembling  in  an  upper 
chamber:  there  lived  Anastasia !  How  near 
was  that  treasure,  yet  how  firmly  locked  from 
him  !  He  had  not,  however,  much  time  for  these 
thoughts,  for  at  that  moment  a  huge  dog  flew  at 
him — his  bark  ran  lar  around.  The  combat  was 
short  as  unequal — the  stiletto  in  his  side,  a  blow 
of  the  shesiopeor  on  his  skull,  and  the  faithful 
guardian  was  silenced  for  ever.  Antony  was 
sorry  for  ihe  poor  hound,  but  there  was  no  pos- 
sibility of  dispensing  with  this  victim.  Is  it  not 
even  ijius,  too,  in  the  world  1  Do  we  not  often 
meet  with  generous  but  unfortunate  peonle,  who, 
while  serving  others  to  obtain  their  ends,  them- 
selves fall  victims  to  ihose  whom  they  aid  1 

On  went  Antony,  and  reached  the  great  flight 
of  steps.  He  cautiously  rattled  the  latch  of  the 
iron  door  which  led  into  the  hall.  No  answer. 
He  veniurcd  to  touch  the  door,  and  it  opened. 
Antony  was  in  the  hall.    Groping  about  him  for 


THE    HERETIC. 


67 


some  moments,  he  hit  upon  another  door ;  at  this 
also  he  gives  a  gentle  enquiring  knock.  Some 
one  answers  from  within  with  a  cough  :  the  door 
opens,  and — before  him  is  an  old  man,  hoary  as 
a  white-headed  eagle.  The  taper  held  in  his 
hand  lights  up  a  face  which  bears  marks  of 
painful  anxiety ;  but  as  soon  as  he  sees,  having 
screened  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  who  it  is  that 
stands  before  him,  his  face  grows  dark  with  ter- 
ror.    It  was  Obrazetz  himself. 

Full  of  disquietude  about  his  friend  and  com- 
panion in  arms,  he  had  not  been  able  to  sleep ; 
with  the  idea  that  the  fugitive  might  yet  appear 
to  seek  an  asylum  under  his  roof,  he  had  com- 
manded his  domestics  to  go  to  sleep,  (in  his  haste 
he  had  forgotten  to  order  them  to  lie  up  the  dog ;) 
but  had  himself  left  open  the  wicket  which  led 
into  the  street,  and  unl«-cked  the  doorof  the  hall. 
Then  he  had  passed  the  time,  now  in  praying  to 
the  Mother  of  God,  known  under  the  title  of 
"  Help  in  E.xtremity,"  (Our  Lady  of  Peril,)  now 
in  opening  the  window  to  catch  the  slightest 
sound  that  arose  through  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  then  again  in  coming  down  to  the  hall. 
He  had  heard  the  bark  of  the  dog,  the  rustling  of 
steps  on  the  stone  staircase,  the  knock  at  the  iron 
door,  and  he  was  hastening  to  meet  his  friend. 

And  what !  before  him  stood  his  terrible  guest 
— was  it  indeed  he,  or  was  it  a  phantom  in  his 
form  1  What  could  he  want  with  the  boyiirin 
at  midnight,  when  even  in  the  daytime  he  had 
never  been  in  that  part  of  the  house  !  .  .  .  .  Pale, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot,  Obrazetz  could 
hardly  raise  his  arm  and  make  signs  of  the 
cross  ;  ejaculating  aloud — "  May  God  arise,  and 
may  his  enemies  be  scattered  !" 

"  Ay,  may  God  arise,  and  may  his  enemies  be 
scattered  !"  repeated  the  young  man  after  him. 
Let  us  again  mention,  that  Ehrenstein  even 
yet  could  not  express  himself  well  in  Russian ; 
but  only  so  as  to  make  himself  understood. 

"God  is  with  us!"  added  he  with  energy; 
"  and  in  proof  of  this,  he  hath,  even  now,  vouch- 
safed me  his  peculiar  favour.  Thy  friend,  the 
Prince  Kholmskii,  is  in  my  chamber.  He  came 
there  by  mistake.  Dost  thou  not  believe  it  1 
Lo  !  here  is  his  signet-ring." 

The  boyarin  crossed  himself  as  he  glanced  at 
the  token,  and  recognized  it ;  but  seeing  blood 
on  the  German's  hand,  he  cried  with  horror — 
"  Great  God  !  he  is  not  wounded,  killed  !" 

"Calm  thyself,  this  is  the  blood  of  thy  dog.' 
To  work,  boyarin  ;  the  day  is  breaking.  For  the 
last  time  I  ask  thee  :  wilt  thou  conceal  thy  friend 
in  thy  house,  or  leave  him  with  me,  in  danger  1" 
"  Will  I  hide  him'?  Assuredly,"  replied  the 
boyarin,  re-assembling  his  scattered  thoughts : 
"go  back  instantly  by  the  same  path  by  which  thou 
earnest,  and  I,  with  my  son  "..'..  (here  he 
thought  for  a  moment)—"  my  son  will  conduct 
the  Prince  through  the  iron  door  which  leadeth 
from  thy  quarter  to  ours." 

Not  the  slightest  thanks,  not  even  the  merest 
expression  of  a  good  heart  appreciating  his  noble 
action.  To  the  stern  soul  of  the  boydrin  it  seem- 
ed that  such  gratitude  would  have  overpaid  a 
greater  exploit ;  and  besides,  in  performing  it, 
Antony  had  broken  through  (he  rigid  barrier 
which  divided  the  orthodox  from  the  heretic 
quarter. 

The  Prince  Kholmskii,  of  whom  report  said 
that  he  flayed  the  prisoners  taken  in  war,  and 
slew  with  his  own  hands  his  own  soldiers  when 
he  caught  them  pillaging,  was  sensible  of  the 
kindness  that  had  been  shown  him,    He  refused 


to  take  back  his  ring,  and  begged  the  leerh  to 
keep  it  as  a  memorial  of  his  generous  deed.  The 
signet,  as  to  the  metal,  was  of  no  great  value, 
and  Antony  could  not  refuse. 

When  Khabar  opened  the  iron  door,  in  order  to 
admit  the  prince  through  it  into  the  other  quarter, 
he  bowed  gracefully  to  the  German,  and  said  a 
heartfelt — "  Ilhank  thee.  If  thou  needest  rescue, 
call  but  Khabar."  From  this  moment  he  be- 
gan to  cherish  a  friendly  feeling  toward  the  leech. 
Was  it  to  be  wondered  all  His  generous  heart 
echoed  the  voice  of  another  heart  as  generous  ; 
besides,  youth,  open  and  confiding,  easily  throws 
off  its  prejudices,  is  less  calculating  than  age. 
The  latter  is,  as  it  were,  ossified  in  its  opinions ; 
possessed  of  more  experience,  but  at  the  same 
time  is  more  prone  to  suspicion.  Obrazetz  would 
not  consent,  even  then,  to  see  his  guest,  though 
Kholmskii  eagerly  remonstrated  against  his  re- 
fusal. To  all  the  arguments  of  his  friend,  he 
answered  only  by  silence.  In  his  mind  there  were 
arrayed  against  the  physician  the  strongest  pre- 
judices, cherished  by  his  abhorrence  of  every- 
thing foreign— unorthodox— accursed — as  he  call- 
ed it — by  the  holy  fathers  of  the  church,  and  held 
still  more  accursed  by  a  heart  stern  and  rendered 
implacable  from  the  moment  when  his  beloved 
son  had  fallen  before  the  arm  of  a  German. 

From  Anastasia  they  concealed  Antony's  ge- 
nerous deed,  but  she  seemed  almost  instinctively 
to  have  guessed  the  truth;  and  the  next  day, 
when  the  magician  left  his  chamber,  she  threw 
on  him,  from  the  window,  a  burning  glance, 
which  flitted  before  him  like  that  on  a  former 
occasion,  and,  like  that,  left  a  deep  impression 
on  his  heart.  He  ventured  to  bow  to  her ;  she 
nodded,  and  disappeared.  From  that  moment, 
when  they  were  sure  that  no  one  beheld  them, 
their  ej'es  began  to  carry  on  a  dialogue,  which 
received  an  eloquent  meaning  at  one  time  from 
the  blushes  of  Anastasia,  like  the  dawning  that 
heralds  the  tempest ;  at  another  from  glances 
dim  with  love,  and  then,  again,  from  the  paleness 
which  confessed  that  there  was  no  longer  a  strug- 
gle between  her  reason  and  her  heart.  Antony- 
guarded  this  treasure  like  some  priceless  dia- 
mond, which  would  be  torn  from  him  the  mo- 
ment he  showed  it  to  another;  thus  it  was  only 
when  alone  that  he  could  enjoy  it,  triumph  in  it, 
and  let  his  soul  bask  in  its  radiance. 

In  a  few  days  Kholmskii's  fate  was  decided. 
Obrazetz  had  recourse  to  the  intercession  of 
the  Primate,  and  other  powerful  ecclesiastics. 
This  mediation  was  certain  to  be  successful,  the 
rather  that  the  Prince  gave  himself  up  volunta- 
rily into  the  hands  of  his  sovereign.  The  inter- 
cessors prayed  the  Great  Prince  to  pardon  the- 
voevoda,  who  had  always  been  a  faithful  servant 
to  Ivan  Vassilievitch  ;  had  brought  to  him  and 
all  the  Christian  nation  nothing  but  honour  and 
advantage,  and  was  ready  even  now  to  go  any 
where,  whithersoever  his  Lord,  and  the  Lord  of 
All  Russia,  should  command,  excepting  only 
against  Tver.  "  Great  sin  would  fall  upon  thy 
head,  dear  Lord,  and  son  of  ours,"  said  one  ec- 
clesiastic, "  if  the  voevoda  should  spill  the  blood 
of  his  countryfnen."  On  their  side,  Aristotle 
and  the  court  physician  skilfully  explained  to 
the  T.?ar,  that  the  report  of  his  unmerited  seve- 
rit}'  towards  the  illustrious  voevoda,  might  in- 
jure him  in  the  good  opinion  entertained  of  him 
iiy  the  Roman  Ctesar  and  other  potentates  ;  that 
by  rigour  to  the  voevoda,  the  Great  Prince  would 
give  hi-s  other  subjects  an  inducement  to  become 
traitors  to  their  country  j  that  Kholmskii  ought 


68 


THE    HERETIC. 


not  to  be  punished,  but  rather  rewarded,  for  his 
generous  refusal,  ai>d  that  this  reward  would 
stimulate  others  to  imitate  so  noble  a  patriotism. 
Above  all,  Aristotle  proved  to  him  how  easily, 
without  the  assistance  of  the  voevoda,  he  might 
reduce  Tver  to  submission  ;  and  how  glorious 
it  would  be  for  Ivan  Vassilievitch,  without  ex- 
posing himself  to  danger,  to  complete,  in  person, 
a  conquest  so  skilfully  prepared  by  his  wise  and 
dexterous  policy.  "  Let  the  glory  of  this  great 
exploit  belong  to  thee  alone,"  added  Aristotle. 

Ivan  was  not  a  great  warrior.  When  it  be- 
came a  question  of  actual  hostilities,  he  pre- 
ferred to  keep  out  of  the  way — he  was  pleased 
with  laurels  gathered  by  the'  hands  of  others; 
but  no  one  can  refuse  him  credit  for  skill  in  the 
difficult  art  of  preparing  for  war,  selecting  the 
most  favourable  moment  for  it,  and  obtaining 
from  it  the  greatest  advantage  :  and  the.se  quali- 
ties are,  at  least,  as  rare  and  as  precious  as  per- 
sonal courage,  and  as  worthy  of  respect  as  the 
fame  of  a  distinguished  general.  On  the  present 
occasion,  Ivan,  relying  on  the  powerful  aid  of 
his  partisans,  who  had  promised  to  open  the 
gates  of  the  city  the  moment  he  appeared  before 
it,  confided  in  the  strength  and  valour  of  Kie 
troops  of  Moscow,  and  in  the  skill  of  his  engi- 
reer,  who  was  so  dexterous  in  the  management 
of  cannon.  He  was  assured  that  he  would  not 
lisk  his  safety  in  the  reduction  of  the  principali- 
ty of  Tver.  In  this  confidence  he  proclaimed, 
that  as  soon  as  the  floods  subsided,  he  would,  in 
person,  accompanied  by  his  son,  lead  his  troops 
again.st  the  rebellious  Prince,  who  had  insulted 
the  sanctity  of  treaties  and  the  ties  of  kindred. 
At  the  same  time  he  pardoned  Kholmskii.  This 
net  of  mercy,  however,  was  not  unaccompanied 
by  conditions  advantageous  to  himself:  know- 
ing how  necessary  the  voevoda  would  be  to  him 
in  future,  and  fearing  that,  at  the  first  disagree- 
ment, he  might  lake  it  into  his  head  to  fly  into 
Lithuania— where  all  the  enemies  and  traitors 
to  the  Prince  of  Moscow  found  a  refuge,  in  the 
same  way  as  Moscow  was  the  asylum  of  all  re- 
bels and  traitors  to  Lithuania — he  demanded  a 
signed  engagement  for  him.  On  the  same  day, 
eight  similar  engagements,  or  signed  deeds,  sonie 
under  a  penalty  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  roubles, 
some  even  higher,  amounting  in  all  to  two  thou- 
sand roubles,  were  given  by  the  principal  inha- 
bitants of  Moscow,  chiefly  the  boyarins,  promi- 
sing to  pay  the  Great  Prince  these  sums,  in  the 
event  of  the  voevoda  flying  or  departin^^  into  a 
foreigo  country.  With  this  valuation  of  the  dis- 
tinguished voevoda  at  two  thousand  roubles, 
Ivan  Vassilievitch  was  content:  besides  this,  the 
Prince  Kholmskii  hissed  Iht  cross;  that  "  (T?7 
against  his  lord  he  would  desire  7W)k."  And  his 
suzerain,  the  Great  Prince,  "had  mercy  upon 
l)is  servant,  and  forgave  him  his  unbuxomness." 

This  affair  w.ts  henceforward  buried  in  com- 
plelc  oblivion.  In  the  course  of  lime  the  Great 
Prince  gave  his  daughter  in  marriage  to  Kholm- 
skii's  son.  Thus,  at  this  epoch,  went  hand  in 
hand  extraordinary  severity,  accompanied  by 
chains  and  death;  and  extraordinary  favour, 
conducting  the  lately-doomed  culprit  into  the 
family  of  the  Tsar.* 

*  Kh(>lni«kii'ii  Bon,  in  tlir  Tfign  of  Vnssilii  Ivanoritch,  wns 
ii<<nt  to  llnvlo-ozcro,  and  dicil  ihrrr  in  exile.  His  only  rrimf 
wns  thm  vpry  niarringc  witti  the  .Inughter  of  Ivan  III.— 
note  of  the  Author. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

THE   LAST   OF   HIS    RACE. 

"  If  thy  son  be  a  sot,  wealth  helpeth  him  not." 

Proverb. 
"  Hark  !  a  noise.     Is  it  the  Tsar  ? 

No,  'tis  the  fool." 

PousHKiN— Borii  Godounoff. 

What  a  tremendons,  what  an  impassable  bar- 
rier was  that  which  divided  the  family  of  Obra- 
zeiz  from  the  stranger  !  But  the  brave  and  ge- 
nerous Khabar  had  once  looked  through  that 
barrier;  and  now  a  second  time  knocked  for  ad- 
mittance at  the  door  and  heart  of  Antony.  The 
visit  was  in  the  evening :  it  was  a  time  for 
stealth,  you  will  say;  and  you  will  guess  the 
truth.  Khabar  came,  unperceived  by  the  do- 
mestics, (God  help  him,  if  his  fathershould  hear 
of  it !)  to  consult  the  leech  about  a  sick  person. 
He  was  now  sure  —  convinced  —  that  Antony 
could  pertbrm  wonders;  this  he  had  been  told 
by  the  beautiful  woman  to  whom  he  was  con- 
ducting him.  At  any  time  the  leech  would  have 
hastened  at  the  call  of  a  suflerer,  rnd  yet  more 
willingly  at  Moscow ;  where  as  yet,  with  the 
exception  of  the  parrot  and  Insatiate,  he  had  not 
had  a  single  patient  under  his  hands,  and  where 
he  wished  so  eagerly  to  acquire  by  his  skill  the 
Russian's  confidence  and  love.  And  now,  above 
all,  with  what  delight  would  he  not  fly  to  the  aid 
of  a  sick  fellow-creature,  when  il  is  Anastsia's 
brother  that  calls  him!  Anastasia's  brother! 
how  much  music  in  those  words !  On  his  face 
there  was  an  expression  that  belonged  to  her: 
some  family  resemblance,  some  trail  of  her  phy- 
siognomy— of  that  face  which  was  painted  on 
his  soul ;  a  trail  not  quite  faithful,  yet  recalling 
the  original.  He  came  to  Anumy  with  a  secret 
request,  in  all  the  confidence  of  friendship:  who 
could  have  promised  this  two  days  ago  *?  The 
young  leech  himself  could  hardly  believe  the 
visit,  and  in  his  delight  knew  not  how  to  show 
enough  consideration  for  his  guest  of  the  mo- 
ment ;  or  how  he  could  prove  to  him  that  he  was 
not  thai  terrible  German  sorcerer  that  they  had 
represented  him  in  Moscow.  One  slight  appeal 
10  his  benevolent  heart,  and  he  was  ready  to  re- 
-spond  to  this  mark  of  confidence  with  any  sa- 
crifice :  this  he  had  very  clearly  shown  by  his 
aid  of  the  Prince  Kholmskii.  Having  set  out 
for  Muscovy  with  so  loving  a  soul,  with  such 
flattering  dreains  of  living  in  a  new  country,  he 
could  not  but  feel,  on  his  arrival,  the  full  weight 
and  bitterness  of  his  solitude  in  a  strange  land, 
and  the  injustice  of  the  people  ;  and  all  of  a  sud- 
den Heaven  vouchsafes  him  the  kind  glance  of 
a  lovelv  maiden  the  gratitude  of  a  distinguished 
leader  whose  benefactor  he  had  been  permitted 
to  become,  and  now  sends  him  a  friendly  confi- 
dence. 

Generous  Antony  I  he  had  already  forgotten 
all  the  ill-will  and  haired  of  the  Russians;  and 
he  was  happy. 

They  go :  over  the  sky  are  strewn  myriads  of 
stars  streaming  Ibrth  their  twinkling  rays;  but 
these  stars  burn  not  for  us — they  have  their  own 
worlds  which  they  warm  and  illumine.  On  ihis 
evening  the  lamp  of  our  earth  wa«  not  lighted  ; 
Aniony  followed  his  guide  in  darkness,  not 
knowing  whither  he  was  Icadinsj  him.  All  he 
knew  was,  that  they  had  not  quilled  the  ciiy, 
and  that  they  were  traversing  narrow  winding 
streets;  by  their  being  every  moment  m  danger 
of  running  against  the  corners  of  houses.  They 
could  scarcely  distinguish  objects;  but  suddenly 


THE    HERETIC, 


they  found  themselves  surrounded  on  all  sides 
by  a  multitude  of  bright  lights,  by  the  beams  of 
which  pious  men  and  women  seemed  to  be  as- 
sembling (or  evening  prayer,  or  for  the  guard  of 
the  TsaV's  palace.  The  air  was  impregnated 
with  fragrant  incense;  in  reality,  Antony  and 
his  guide  were  at  the  Great  Prince's  palace, 
which  was  encircled  by  churches  and  chapels, 
lighted  up  by  religious  zeal.  Then  again  all 
was  dark. 

"  Be  cautious,"  said  Khabar,  in  an  almost  in- 
audible whisper,  taking  the  leech  by  the  hand  in 
order  to  lead  him  through  a  narrow  passage  be- 
tween the  houses ;  "  caution,  caution.  Master 
Leech  !  hers  a  word  may  bring  danger  on  us!" 

Soon  the  wind  blew  freshly  upon  them:  this 
sign  informed  Antony  that  they  had  left  the  en- 
closure of  the  houses,  and  that  they  were  ascend- 
ing an  eminence.  By  the  stars,  retlected  in 
patches  of  water  as  in  polished  steel,  and  by  the 
sound  of  mill-wheels,  Antony  concluded  that  he 
was  on  the  hill  above  the  pool  of  Neglinnaia; 
on  which  there  still  remained  patches  ol  belated 
ice.  His  memory  was  instantly  recalled  to  the 
pugilistic  battle  on  the  pool ;  and  thence,  by  the 
process  of  mental  association,  to  the  crimson 
veil  v,^hich  had  been  hung  out  from  the  tower. 
"  That  turret  cannot  be  far  olf !"  he  thought. 

His  companion  stopped  him. 

"  Here !"  said  Khabar;  and  just  as  he  was  en- 
tering a  wicket,  he  felt  some  one  seize  him  firm- 
ly round  the  legs. 

"  I  will  not  let  thee  1"  exclaimed  a  stifled  fe- 
male voice,  expressive  of  despair.  "  1  will  not 
let  thee  —  thou  shalt  trample  me  to  death  first! 
"When  thou  comest  in,  villain,  thou  shalt  not  find 
thy  Greek  alive." 

Instead  of  answer  nothing  was  heard  but  a 
violent  blow. 

"  Kill  me,  but  I  will  not  let  thee  pass  !"  again 
cried  the  voice  of  despair. 

"  Scream  louder,  and  1  will  kill  thee !"  said 
Khabar. 

A  light  from  a  window  illuminated  imper- 
fectly and  for  a  moment  a  young  and  pretty 
woman,  without  kerchief  or  veil,  (which  were 
lying  at  a  short  distance  from  her  on  the  ground,) 
and  with  her  hair  all  dishevelled.  She  had 
twined  her  arms  round  Khabar's  legs,  and  under 
a  hail-storm  of  blows  was  kissing  his  knees, 
perhaps  endeavouring,  by  gluing  her  lips  to 
him,  to  stifle  the  screams  of  pain. 

'Twas  Selinova.  She  desired  not  to  destroy 
her  lover,  but  only  to  draw  him  away  from  her 
dangerous  rival ;  and  at  what  a  moment!  when 
the  aid  of  a  physician  was  indispensable  to  that 
rival.  The  moment  for  safety  might  pass,  and 
the  victory  would  be  on  her  side.  Terror,  indig- 
nation, despair,  were  mingled  in  Khabar's  coun- 
tenance: for  him,  too,  the  decisive  moment  had 
arrived.  It  was  necessary  to  triumph,  cost 
what  it  might;  or  to  destroy  her  for  whose  sake 
he  had  sacrificed  Selinova — her  who  apparently 
was  so  dear  to  him.  That  beloved  one — so  far 
dearer  than  all,  so  precious  —  was  dying,  was 
awaiting  his  help,  there — in  the  house — to'which 
his  entrance  was  barred  by  the  frightful  jealousy 
of  a  woman  !  He  made  an  eSort  to  drag  Seli- 
nova from  his  legs,  as  you  tear  the  ivy  that  for 
years  has  entwined  its  tendrils  round  a  mighty 
oak;  he  threw  her  on  his  shoulders,  and  telling 
Antony  to  enter  the  house  through  the  open 
wicket,  bore  olf  his  spoil. 

And  the  leech,  under  the  burden  of  strange 
and  painful  impressions,  entered  the  court  and 


ascended  a  flight  of  steps.  The  staircase  was 
lighted  with  lamps,  a  rich  oriental  qarpet  was 
spread  along  it.  "Antony  passed  into  a  hall,  and 
thence  into  an  ante-chamber  There  seemed  to 
be  an  unusual  bustle  in  the  house:  alarm  was 
painted  in  the  faces  of  all.  In  the  confusion 
they  hardly  seemed  to  remark  the  physician. 
The  servants  were  not  Russian ;  in  some  un- 
known language  they  asked  him  what  he  want- 
ed ;  he  spoke  to  them  in  Russian — in  German — 
'twas  all  the  same  :  in  Italian — they  understood 
him.  "  Signor  Antonio,  the  signor  leech  !"  re- 
sounded through  the  house.  With  eagernesg 
they  conducted  him  to  a  small  chamber,  richly 
decorated  in  the  oriental  taste. 

On  a  bed  was  stretched  a  young  woman, 
whose  beauty  was  triumphant  even  over  disease. 
The  dim  eyes  gave  forth  a  phosphoric  bright- 
ness; the  lips  were  parched.  Two  long  black 
I  tresses  streamed  over  her  snowy  shoulders,  and 
upon  her  heaving  bosom,  like  two  black  ser- 
j  pents  that  have  been  crushed  by  a  bold  step. 
Above  her,  before  an  image  of  Greek  painting, 
adorned  with  precious  stones,  burned  a  lamp 
made  of  an  entire  shell  of  nacre.  At  sight  of  a 
young  and  handsonie  physician,  the  patient,  not- 
withstanding her  sufferings,  endeavoured  to  ar- 
range her  dress,  and  to  banish  from  her  counte- 
nance and  attitude  all  that  was  disagreeable, 
produced  by  her  torturing  disorder.  "  If  there  is 
yet  time,  restore  me  to  life,  Signor  Leech ;  I  am 
£0  young,  I  would  yet  live  on  a  little  longer," 
she  said  in  the  Italian  language,  which  sounded 
doubly  sweet  from  her  lips;  and  instantly  she 
gave  him  her  hand.  Drawing  him  towards  her, 
she  added,  in  a  whisper,  at  his  ear — "  They 
have  given  me  poison  :  I  feel  it;  but,  for  God's 
sake,  speak  of  it  to  no  one." 

Beside  the  bed  was  a  man  of  more  than  forty; 
bald,  short,  feeble,  with  crooked,  goat-like  legs. 
He  was  evidently  the  master  of  the  house,  as  the 
attendants,  who  stood  around  distracted  with 
sorrow,  seemed  to  pay  respect  to  him.  His  eyes 
were  red  and  swollen  with  weeping:  instead  ot 
being  active  and  giving  help,  he  wept  and  whin- 
ed like  an  old  woman.  '-Save  her!"  he  im- 
plored the  leech  in  a  pitiful  voice,  and  in  bad 
Italian ;  "  if  I  still  had  my  empire,  I  would  give 
it  to  save  Haidee's  life.  Now  I  will  reward- 
thee  in  a  manner  befitting  the  Despot  of  the  Mo- 
rea." 

Who  would  have  guessed  it*?  This  man, 
stamped  with  imbecility  physical  and  intellect- 
ual— this  whiner  was  the  last  scion  of  the  Em- 
perors of  Byzantium — Andreas  Palaeologos.       ; 

And  this  was  all  that  was  left  of  the  greatness 
of  the  Roman  empire  ! 

His  father,  Thomas,  brother  of  the  last  of  the 
Constantines,  with  one  son — this  Andreas— and 
his  daughter  Sophia,  Princess  of  Servia,  had 
sought  refuge  from  the  victorious  sword  of  the 
Ottomans,  first  at  Corfu,  and  afterwards  in  Italy. 
The  other  son  preferred  to  remain  at  Constanti- 
nople— as  our  countrymen  the  Russians  said  at. 
the  time,  eating  the  bread  of  the  infidel  emperor 
— and  Ibund  no  reason  to  repent:  he  enjoyed  ex- 
istence, comfort,  and  tranquillity  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  generous  sultan.  The  exiled 
Thomas  carried  to  Rome  the  head  of  the  apostle 
Andrew,  his  right  to  the  Byzantine  throne,  and 
his  misfortunes:  the  precious  relic  was  accepted 
by  the  Pontiff,  who  promised,  aided  by  th^  Duke 
of  Milan,  to  restore  him  to  his  lost  crown. 
These  promises  were  never  fulfilled,  and  he  died 
an  exile  at  Durazzo,  leaving  for  his  monument 


THE    HERETIC. 


a  few  lines  in  the  Italian  chronicles,  where  he  is 
recorded  to  have  served  in  some  magnificent 
ceremony  or  other,  as  a  no  less  magnificent 
iiffizianlc.  Desiring  to  find  in  the  East  an  oppo- 
nent to  the  infidel  conqueror  of  the  city  of  Con- 
stantine,  and  to  draw  Russia  within  the  shadow 
of  his  tiara,  the  Pope,  Paul  II.,  betrothed  the 
daughter  of  Thomas  to  the  Russian  Great  Prince. 
Ivan  deceived  the  Roman  Pontiff  in  his  calcula- 
tions. The  arrival  in  Moscow  of  Andreas, 
whether  from  a  simple  desire  of  visiting  his  sis- 
ter, or  a  foolish  hope  of  flattering  his  brother-in- 
Ibw  with  his  right  to  Byzantium,  but  served  to 
prove  to  him  that  those  rights  only  are  real 
■which  can  be  maintained  by  intellect,  power, 
and  money.  Ivan  Vassilievitch  was  not  the 
man  to  be  dazzled  by  such  tinsel:  he  immedi- 
ately guessed  the  Greek's  true  value,  and  fore- 
seeing that  he  would  be  a  burden  on  him,  treated 
him  with  no  great  distinction.  The  amity  of 
the  Sultan,  though  that  of  an  accursed  and  un- 
believing infidel,  founded  as  it  was  on  arms,  had 
much  greater  attractions  for  his  eye.  To  him  j 
the  Pope,  the  Jew  Khozi,  Stephen  of  Moldavia,  j 
Batorii  of  Hungary,  the  Tartar  Khan — were  all 
equally  attractive,  when  he  had  need  of  them. 

We' have  said  that  Andreas  Palseologos,  im- 
mersed in  tears,  was  standing  by  the  bed-side  of 
a  beautiful  and  suffering  woman  :  but  we  have 
not  said  who  this  woman  was — poisoned  by 
some  wicked  hand,  which  in  all  probability  had 
been  guided  by  the  jealousy  of  a  rival.  She  was 
his  mistress;  a  year  before  she  had  been  sold, 
against  her  will,  by  the  avarice  of  her  own 
mother.  Fortunately  for  her,  the  poison  was  in 
itself  feeble,  or  weakened  by  terror  or  conscience, 
and  no  time  had  been  lost.  The  power  of  the 
remedies  employed  by  Antony  was  victorious 
over  the  action  of  the  venom.  Haid^e  was 
saved.  This  lovely  being,  but  a  moment  ago 
so  near  annihilation,  bloomed  once  more  like  a 
bright  and  living  rose.  In  her  lip,  her  cheek, 
the  fresh  blood  again  began  to  course  from  its 
secret  fountain.  With  both  her  hands — hands 
so  exquisitely  modelled — she  seized  that  of  the 
young  physician,  pressed  it  to  her  bosom,  and 
raising  to  heaven  her  dark  liquid  eyes,  which 
streamed  with  tears,  thanked  him  more  elo- 
quently than  with  words. 

At  such  an  unusual  expression  of  gratitude 
Antony  was  confused,  and  blushed  deeply  .... 
Incoherently,  almost  unintelligibly,  he  expressed 
liis  delight  at  having  restored  life  to  so  beautiful 
a  being.  Recollecting  Anastasia's  brother,  he 
no  longer  wondered  how  the  Greek  was  prefer- 
red to  Selinova. 

The  Despot  of  the  Morea,  in  the  fulness  of 
his  delight,  kept  sneaking  round  the  bed,  like 
the  learned  cat  at  the  end  of  its  chain  ;  and  sud- 
denly, at  the  first  glance  thrown  on  him  in  ])ity, 
began  to  mumble  the  little  hand  that  was  ex- 
tended to  him  by  Haidee,  unwillingly,  nay,  al- 
most contemptuously.  "Now,  come  down  to 
my  companions,  to  my  friends,"  he  cried,  snap- 
ping his  fin<jors,  and  drawing  Antony  after  him  ; 
"we  will  make  festival  on  the  recovery  of  our 
queen.  If  I  could,  I  would  make  the  whole 
world  rejoice  with  us." 

The  physician  unwillingly  fillowcd  him,  re- 
warded with  a  farewell  look,"  a  Haltering  glance, 
such  as  women,  confident  in  their  beautv,  so  well 
know  how  to  give.  They  had  hardly  reached 
the  threshold  of  the  chamtwr,  when  the  musical 
voice  ol"  Haidee  .sounded  in  the  ear  ol  Palwolo- 
go3.     He  rushed  to  her  on  his  tottering  little  legs. 


"  Dost  thou  hear ;  this  is  for  him,  for  my  pre- 
server !"  she  cried  in  an  imperious  tone,  giving 
Paloeologos  a  gold  chain  of  great  price. 

"  That  is  a  good  girl !"  he  answered  ;  "  I  meant 
....  but  I  knew  not  what  to  give ....  I  was  think- 
ing about  it.  Now,  one  more  farewell  kiss  on 
the  little  hand,  or  at  least  on  the  little  finger." 

"  No,  they  are  waiting  lor  thee — begone !"  said 
Haidee;  and  the  Despot — despot  only  in  name — 
hurried  to  perlbrm  the  will  of  his  mistress. 

Antony  thought  of  his  poor  mother,  and  ac- 
cepted the  royal  present.  He  had  already  re- 
ceived  a  rich  necklace  from  the  Great  Princess 
Sophia  Phominishna  for  the  cure  of  the  parrot ; 
sables  and  marten  skins  from  the  Great  Prince 
— all  was  for  her,  his  dear,  his  tenderly-loved 
mother.  How  exultingly  she  would  deck  her- 
self in  them,  and  show  herself  to  her  acquain- 
tance! "All  this  my  good  Antony  sent  me !" 
she  would  say,  with  a  mother's  pride. 

As  soon  as  Haidee  was  sure  that  Palajologos 
was  gone,  she  ordered  all  her  women  to  leave 
her,  and  then  called  one  of  them  back — "Thou 
gavesi  me  just  now  some  drink,"  she  said,  and 
shaking  her  head  reproachfuUj',  "  what  had  I 
done  to  thee  V 

The  woman  turned  as  pale  as  death ;  sobbing, 
she  fell  at  her  mistress's  feet,  and  confessed  all. 
Selinova  had  bribed  her;  the  poison  had  been 
given,  but  terror  or  conscience  had  diminished 
the  quantity. 

"  Let  this  remain  between  God  and  ourselves," 
.'•aid  Haidee,  giving  her  her  hand  ;  "  pray  to  the 
Father  of  us  all  to  pardon  thee,  as  1  do.  Shall 
his  sinful  servant  dare  to  judge  another  sinner  1 
.  .  .  .  But  ....  they  come ;  arise,  lest  they  find 
thee  in  tliis  attitude"  .... 

And  what  had  passed  remained  for  ever  a  se- 
cret between  these  two  women,  the  leech,  and 
God. 

Khabar  appeared.  The  love  and  devotion  of 
the  .servants — men  and  women — to  their  mis^ 
tress,  opened  the  doors  to  him  at  all  hours  of  the 
day  or  night,  removed  for  him  the  vigilance  of 
the  guards — these  feelings  were  sentinels  when 
he  visited  her  in  secret.  His  face  was  clouded. 
It  instantly  cleared  up,  however,  at  the  first  look 
that  Haidee  gave  him.  "  Here !  to  my  heart,  my 
precious  one — my  treasure!"  she  cried,  as  she 
pressed  the  youth's  dark  curls  to  her  bosom ; 
"  but  for  thee  I  had  died— 'twas  thou  who  sent 
me  a  leech." 

"Assuredly  'twas  I :  who  else  1  I  would  go 
to  the  pit  of  hell — God  forgive  me — for  thee,  my 
darling,  my  little  pearl !" 

"  A'<>?('  wilt  thou  call  the  leech  a  cursed  heretic 
—a  witch  V 

"  O !  I  now  am  ready  to  call  him  brother. 
What — tell  me,  hide  nothing  from  me  —  what 
ailed  thee,  my  little  dovel  Was  it  not  poison 
now  7" 

"  Yes,  'twas  poison  ....  but  from  no  hand 
but  mine  own  ....  I  myself,  like  a  little  fool,  am 
alone  to  blame.  1  wished  to  save  a  silver  ladle, 
and  took  a  copper  one.  In  the  dark  I  observed 
not  that  it  was  covered  with  rust^  and  I  ladled 
some  drink  with  it.  A  little  more,  the  leech  said, 
and  my  eyes  would  have  closed  for  ever.  God 
knoweth  1  should  not  regret  life;  I  should  re- 
gret thee  alone  !  Thoii  wouldst  have  wept 
awhile  over  my  cold  grave,  and  forgot  the  Greek 
girl  Haidee." 

"  No  !  I  would  not  have  wearied  mine  eyes 
with  tears:  I  would  have  covered  them  with 
yellow  sand;  I  would  have  espoused  another, 


THE    HERETIC. 


■-an  eternal  mistress ;  and  made  my  marriage-bed 
on  the  coffin  plank." 

The  tender  and  passionate  Haidee  kissed  him 
with  a  southern  kiss.  Thus  the  parclied  earth, 
in  scorching  day,  drinks  eagerly  the  dew  ot  hea- 
ven ! 

"Hush!"  cried  Khabar,  raising  his  head  like 
a  steed  at  the  sound  of  ihe  war-trumpet.  "  There 
is  a  noise  below.     I  will  go." 

"  Let  them  feast !  My  poor  king,  as  they  call 
liim,  is  now  mad  with  drinking.  But  thou,  my 
true  king,  my  lor*,  grant  a  few  moments  to  thy 
slave !" 

"  Fasting  ....  and  I  not  there  !....!  cannot 

Farewell,  my  dove !    The  dark  nights  are 

'Ours." 

"  Thy  pleasure  is  mine.    Go." 

And  Khabar  rushed  from  her  embrace — from 
one  banquet  to  another. 

In  the  mean  time  the  leech  had  been  intro- 
duced into  a  motley  society,  which  was  impa- 
tiently awaiting  Palceologos  in  a  large  long 
chamber.  There  were  mingled  Russians,  Greeks, 
Italians,  architects,  and  masons,  workers  in  sil- 
ver and  copper,  boyarins  with  the  vilch*  and 
"without  the  vitch,  guards,  the  deacon  Borodaiii, 
the  interpreter  Bartholomew;  there  were  also 
members  of  the  higher  and  lower  orders  and 
ranks  which  Ivan  Vassilievitch  had  created  and 
classed  according  to  dignity:  but  now  all  were 
levelled  in  the  bacchanalian  orgie.  Their  im- 
patience proceeded,  not  from  any  desire  to  enjoy 
the  presence  of  the  mighty  despot  of  the  Morea, 
and  pretender  to  the  Byzantine  throne,  but  rathe* 
from  their  thirst  for  foreign  wines,  with  which 
he  usually  regaled  his  guests.  In  his  absence, 
the  huge  goblets,  yawning  on  their  sides,  the 
silver-ciiased  cups  and  flagons,  with  a  melan- 
choly thirsty  air,  and  the  ladies — that  looked  as 
if  they  had  turned  on  their  faces  for  very  shame 
— were  scattered  pell-mell  on  an  oaken  table, 
now  left  alone  and  deserted,  like  some  ruined 
spendthrift,  who  can  no  longer  feast  his  friends 
Avith  splendid  banquets.  By  the  number  of  ca- 
pacious vessels  heaped  in  picturesque  disorder, 
by  the  abundant  splashes  of  wine  upon  the  table, 
the  stupiQed  looks  and  red  noses  of  the  guests,  it 
■was  very  easy  to  see  that  Bacchus  had  not  been 
asleep,  and  that  his  cupbearers  had  done  their 
office  wiih  zealous  activity.  The  benches  had 
suffered  most  of  all:  they  stood  in  a  position,  in- 
ducing one  to  think  that  the  revellers  had  been 
making  use  of  them  to  demonstrate  extraordinary 
problems  in  military  tactics :  the  covers  of  the 
forms  were  in  one  place  pulled  off  and  streaming 
down  like  a  cascade,  or  an  outspread  wing;  in 
another,  unntercifully  rumpled,  they  served"  as  a 
pillow  to  a  guest  who  was  sleeping  on  the  floor. 
Teniers  would  have  found  here  an  abundant 
harvest  for  his  pencil.  One  of  the  guests,  in 
spite  of  the  fumes  of  the  wine  that  were  whirling 
in  his  brain,  and  remembering  that  he  was  in  the 
house  of  the  pretender  to  the  Byzantine  throne, 
was  endeavouring  with  all  his  might  to  put  the 
bridle  of  ceremony  on  lips,  hands,  feet — all  that 
might  forget  itself  in  the  dwelling  of  so  illustri- 
ous a  personage.  Another  was  sneaking  round 
the  deserted  table,  and  wistfully  peering  now 
into  this,  now  into  that  empty  flagon.  A  third 
was  bestriding  a  bench  as  if  it  were  a  steed. 
There  were  some,  too,  so  outrageous,  as  to  lie 
-down  on  the  flioor,  and  trumpet  forth  a  snoring 


*  All  boyarins  were  not  fiutitled  to  be  nddressed  by  the 
respectable  termiaatioa  vitch  subjoined  to  their  patronymic. 
— T.  B. 


concerto  to  the  honour  of  the  despot  of  the  Mo- 
rea. But  the  moment  Andreas  Palaeologos  ar- 
rived, all  was  awake  and  in  motion — one  of  his 
own  accord,  as  if  jt>y  som-e  magnetic  sympathy, 
another  by  a  jog  from  his  neighbour — and  in- 
stantly formed  around  their  entertainer  an  in- 
quisitive and  varied  group.  Each  spoke  as  well 
as  he  could,  and  in  what  language  he  was  able, 
and  each  tried  to  anticipate  the  other  in  his  eager 
enquiries;  and  the  whole  formed  a  gabbling 
enough  to  raise  the  dead.  At  last  could  be  dis- 
tinguished the  words — "Can  we  congratulate 
you  on  the  signora's  recovery  ]" 

"  Lord  Despot,  how  fareth  it  with  thy  dove, 
Haida  Andreevnal" 

Here  the  Russian  was  anticipated  by  a  for- 
eigner. 

But  the  Russian  had  shown  no  small  clever- 
ness in  choosing  his  term:  who  could  tell  the 
name  of  Haidee's  father !  Tlte  Despot  is  her 
father,  brother,  friend — all,  all.  What  could  be 
better  than  Andreevna  1  Let  any  body  try  to 
invent  a  better  title!  You  "can  see  with  half 
an  eye  that  he  knows  what  he  is  about,"  as  the 
prefect's  wife  would  say  in  Gogol's  novel. 

"  Saved — saved — she  is  saved !"  cried  the  Des- 
pot of  the  Morea:  "and  here  is  her  preserver," 
he  added,  pointing  to  Antony. 

"What  disease  had  the  lady"?" 

"  She  ate  something  unwholesome,"  (here  he 
clapped  his  hand  on  his  stomach  and  made  a 
wrj^  face  as  if  he  had  just  swallowed  something 
very  sour;)  "but  now  ....  all  is  over  ....  all 
is  well,  my  lads!  Now  for  a  carouse  in  Byzan- 
tine fashion — to  the  leech's  health!  Cupbearer, 
the  best  Italian  wine." 

At  this  exclamation  the  goblets  were  all  in 
motion.  Cups  and  flagons  waved  and  clanked 
in  the  hands  of  the  revellers. 

The  Russian  guests  crossed  themselves. 

"To  the  health  of  Antony  the  Almayne!" 
shouted  a  number  of  voices  in  Russian. 

"  Blessings  be  On  him  'in  the  dew  of  heaven, 
and  in  the  fatness  of  the  earth  !' "  added  the  dea- 
con Borodatii. 

"  To  the  health  of  our  Antonio!  he  is  ours  by 
education,  he  is  our  countryman !"  roared  the 
Italians. 

"It  was  our  Greek  that  brought  him  hither! 
He  hath  saved  the  rose  of  our  imperial  garden — 
he  is  no  stranger  with  us  either,"  chorused  the 
Greeks. 

"We  do  foul  sin,  Matvei  Sidorovitch !"  whis- 
pered a  boyarin  without  the  vitck  to  his  comrade 
with  the  vitch;  "the  wine  sticketh  in  my  throat 
like  glue.  What!  to  the  health  of  a  foul  heretic 
— a  necromancer!  ....  If  he  were  at  least  an 
Italian"  .... 

"  'Twas  even  so  with  me,  Simeon.  My  hand 
will  not  raise  the  goblet  to  my  lips!  I  might 
as  well  try  to  liCt,  God  knoweth  what.  But 
see  !  our  neighbour  here  hath  grown  thoughtful 
too"  .... 

The  neighbour  tremblingly  pointed  to  his  cup, 
which  was  full  to  the  brim.' 

"  Look  there  !  see'st  thou  not  something  loll- 
ing out  its  tongue  at  us !" 

And  each  Bian,  seeing  his  own  ugly  face  re- 
flected in  the  wine,  his  staring  hair,  thought  he 
beheld  the  devil  with  his  horns. 

"  Have  ye  quaffed  all  outl"  asked  the  Des- 
pot. 

"All,  all !"  roared  the  guests;  "  without  leav- 
ing a  drop." 

"  Here  is  a  proof  ....  full  proof ....  drunk 


THE    HERETIC. 


out "  .  .  .  .  repeated  the  boyarin  with  the  vUcfi 
and  his  coinracfes,  concealing  their  cups  behind 
liieir  outspread  palms. 

When  it  became  Antony's  turn  to  thank  the 
c.mpany,  by  emptying  in  their  honour  an  enor- 
mous measure,  which  would  have  laid  him 
straightway  under  the  table,  as  he  was  unaccus- 
tomed to  the  juice  of  the  vine,  he  merely  touch- 
ed the  goblet  with  his  lips.  His  excuse  was  the 
obligation  of  his  profession,  which  might  call 
him  to  his  cuty  at  any  hour  of  day  or  night,  and 
the  weak  state  of  his  health — "  A  leech  is  as  a 
priest;  both  make  a  vow  to  serve  God,  in  devot- 
ing themselves  to  the  service  of  humanity.  Each 
must  present  himself  at  the  altar  pure  and  unde- 
filed. — If,  by  my  presence,  I  d  istu  rb  your  pleasure, 
1  am  ready  to  depart." 

"No,  no!  we  desire  it  not.  Thou  art  our 
most  welcome  guest!"  cried  Palaeologos.  "See 
how  we  carouse  with  our  friends  !  Wine!  haste! 
wine!  more  wine  !  ....  Or  doth  the  Byzantine 
Emperor  lackl"  .... 

At  this  moment  the  interpreter  Bartholomew, 
swaying  from  side  to  side  like  a  pendulum,  reel- 
ed up  to  Antony's  side — the  leech  saw  him  not — 
then  he  reeled  to  the  other  side — with  no  better 
success.  *  At  last  he  stopped  close  to  him,  and 
Avhispered  at  his  ear  till  the  young  man  could  not 
help  starting. 

"  Thou  here !" 

"  Of  course,  most  high  worshipful  sir  ....  I 
informed  you,  melhinks,  that  I  am  quite  one  of 
th-e  family — quite  at  home.  Hm!  said  I  well  1 
What  a  glorious  noble  fellow  is  the  heir  of  Con- 
stantine  the  Great!" 

"  In  what,  except  gloriously  drainingthe cups  1 
In  this  too,  methinks,  his  'star  is  beginning  to 
grow  dim.'" 

"Softly,  softly,  most  worshipful:  you  kill  one 
to  say  so  ...  .  But  did  you  see  the  pretty  crea- 
ture 1    What !  did  I  lie  1" 

"  For  once  you  spoke  the  truth." 

"If  you  ....  only  give  me  a  hint  ....  I 
will  take  care  ....  trust  to  me !" 

And  the  interpreter,  with  an  air  of  stupid  cun- 
ning, winked  his  eye. 

"  Thou  doest  me  too  much  honour.  Add  this 
garland  to  the  hundreds  that  have  been  shower- 
ed on  you  from  the  Rhine  to  the  Moskva." 

And  Antony,  leaving  the  interpreter  sticking 
in  the  mud,  hastened  to  the  architects  with  whom 
he  had  travelled  from  Germany. 

At  the  highest  uproar  of  the  revel,  Khabar 
made  his  appearance.  Having  found  out  that 
many  were  ill-disposed  towards  the  leech  on  ac- 
count of  his  refusal  to  drink — "  I  will  answer 
for  him  and 'for  myself!"  he  cried;  and  before 
him  ihey  placed  a  measure,  into  which  was  pour- 
ed twice  the  number  of  flagons  that  had  been 
drunk  by  any  one  of  the  company  in  his  absence. 

"  That  is  the  way  we  bathe  in  wine — in  Ryznn- 
tine  fashion  !"  cried  Andreas  Palaiologos. '  His 
little  legs  were  twisted  across  each  otlier  like  wet 
threads;  his  lower  jaw,  which  at  all  times  pro- 
jected, now  hung  down,  so  that  his  profile,  with 
all  its  sharp  angles  indicative  of  silliness,  was 
rellccted  on  the  wall  in  the  most  ludicrous  man- 
ner. 

"  That  is  our  way— in  Russian  fa.shion  !"  said 
Khal)ar,  draining  the  gigantic  measure. 

Drink  developes  the  real  character  more  read- 
ily llian  any  thing  else.  It  is  not  at  the  bottom 
of  a  well,  Init  at  the  bottom  of  a  glass,  that  we 
should  seek  for  truth.  Audacity  glittered  in  the 
eyes  of  Ithabar ;  while  the  Despot  of  the  Morea 


showed  the  effects  o^  wine  by  boasting.  Botb 
occupied  the  chief  position  on  the  scene  of  revel. 

"What  are  we  doing  I"  said  I^habar;  "we 
have  drunk  to  the  health  of  the  Great  Prince  and 
our  noble  host ;  but  we  have  not  honoured  his  no- 
ble brother,  Manuel  Phomitch,  who  is  keeping-, 
for  him  the  city  of  the  Constantines!" 

Befogged  as  were  the  brains  of  Phomitch,  he, 
nevertheless,  at  least  comprehended  the  gibe,  and 
proclaimed  that  his  brother,  in  consequence  of 
his  flight  to  the  Sultan,  had  been  deprived  of  all 
right  to  the  Byzantine  throne.  The  toast  was  re- 
fused. 

"  O,  my  brethren,  grievous  is  the  burden  of  em- 

Eire  !"  said  the  Despot  mournfully;  yet  drawing- 
imself  up — "  I  myself  have  renounced  it.  To- 
be  sure,  the  empire  of  Byzantium  is  not  like  your 
principality  of  Moscow.  How  many  seas  and 
rivers  doth  it  contain  1  How  many  great  cities  T 
Its  smallest  town  is  greater  than  Moscow.  I  will 
not  say  a  horseman — even  a  bird  could  not  in  a 
whole  year  fly  over  aur  empire.  But  your  little 
nook  of  a  country — 'tis  a  mere  handful." 

"  Our  land  is  also  in  the  palm  of  God,  and  in  the 
hand  of  our  great  lord  Ivan  Vassilievitch,  and 
that  hand  reacheth  far!"  exclaimed  proudly  the- 
deacon  Borodatii,  drawing  himself  up,  and  stro- 
king his  beard.  Triumph  and  delight  gleamed 
in  the  eyes  of  the  tiny  Titus  Livius  of  the  Great. 
Prince. 

"Thanks,  thanks!"  cried  Khabar— "  thou  hast: 
helped  me  out.  Neverdidst  thou  speak  so  sweet-- 
ly  and  so  well.  Let  us  kiss,  and  drink  to  the  hon- 
our and  glory  of  old  Russia  ....  Add,  beside, 
that  our  holy  mother  Russia  is  growing  up,  not 
by  years  but  by  hours;  while  Byzantium  hath 
been  growing  less,  ever  less  and  less,  till  she  i.«5 
all  reduced  to  the  great  lord,  Despot  of  Morea, 
Andrei  Phomitch." 

"  And  how  would  your  Princeling  of  Moscow, 
my  ungrateful  brother-in-law — how  would  he 
have  appeared  in  the  world  but  for  the  children, 
ofPhomal" 

Khabar,  with  some  of  the  guards,  burst  into  a 
loud  laugh.  Around  the  scene  of  the  di.spute  a 
circle  began  to  form.  Antony  looked  with  pleas- 
ure upon  this  contest,  in  which  were  actors  on 
one  side,  noble  patriotism  and  loyalty;  on  the 
other,  boasting  weakness.  Who  but  would  have 
wished  for  the  victory  to  fall  to  the  former:  who 
but  would  have  answered  for  its  domg  so? 

"  Ay,  it  was  but  since  my  sister  Sophia  ?ho- 
minishna  appeared  in  Russia,  that  your  nation 
hath  been  heard  of  in  the  world.  The  Tartars 
were  driven  away;  Novgorod  fell,  and  Moscow 
began  to  look  something  like  a  town.  It  is  only 
since  then  that  Ivan  Vassilievitch  came  to  be 
thought  something  of" 

"  Oh  !"  burst  Irom  the  gallant  breast  of  Kha- 
bar. He  seemed  as  if  he  could  have  devoured 
the  Byzantine  boaster  with  his  eyes. 

A  boyarin,  with  a  thick  white  beard,  appear- 
ed on  the  scene,  and  said,  bowing  low — "We 
honour  and  reverence  thy  mistress  and  ours,  the 
Great  Princess  Sophia  Phominishna ;  for  that 
she  loved  Russia  better  than  her  native  countiy, 
(if  it  is  worth  speaking  of  that  mi.serable  rouii- 
trv,  eaten  up  as  it  is  by  an  unbelieving  hcreiie 
instead  of  a  Tartar  locust;)  but  it  is  not  noble  in 
thee.  Lord  Despot  of  Morea,  behind  the  back  of 
our  sovereign,  Ivan  Vassilievitch,  to  bar"  .  .  . 
.  .  (the  boy.irin  .stopped  and  shook  his  head)  .  . 
.  •  "  nor  would  it  be  noble  in  me,  in  return  for 
thy  favours,  my  lord,  to  speak  an  evil  word." 

"  Your  sovereign,  iny  ungrateful  brother-in-law^. 


THE    HERETIC. 


73- 


himself  slighteth  me — counteth  me  worse  than  a 
refuse  marten  skin.  He  gave  my  daughter  to 
thO  Prince  of  Vereia;  and  now,  for  some  wom- 
an's baubles,  hath  driven  him  to  Lithuania.  I 
thank  him.  What  honour  have  I  at  the  Great 
Prince's  court  1  In  what  respect  am  I  heldl 
What  £;ifis  have  I  from  him?  I  am  worse  ofl' 
than  I  he  Tartar  Tsarevitch,  Danyar." 

"  The  Tartar  Tsarevitch'.s  grandfather,  father, 
and  lie  himself,  have  done  much  Christian  ser- 
vice," said  the  boydrin,  again  bowing:  ^let 
each  be  rewarded  according  to  his  service." 

"  And  I I  .  .  .  .  fools  that  ye  are !" 

The  boyarin  bowed  still  lower,  and  scratched 
his  head. 

"Know  ye  not  that  I  carry  in  my  pocket  the 
Byzantine  empire ']" 

"  'Tis  not  over  large,"  interrupted  Khabar,  "  if 
it  can  find  room  in  thy  pocket.  I  could  stow 
away  half  a  dozen  of  thy  empires  in  my  pouch." 
This  reply  was  received  with  a  general  bunst 
of  laughter  by  the  younger  part  of  the  Russians, 
and  by  many  of  the  foreigners  who  understood 
the  Russian  language.  Some  one  among  them, 
as  if  by  accident,  jostled  the  Despot  of  the  Mo- 
rea ;  another,  behind,  made  as  if  he  was  going 
to  tillip  him  on  his  bald  pate.  The  Greeks 
mournfully  shook  their  heads.  The  boyarin, 
with  the  bushy  white  beard,  preserved  a  cold 
haughty  air. 

"  1  would  have I  offered  this  Ivan  of 

yours  my  Byzantine  empire!" 

"  The  crane  to  heaven  is  flying,"  sang  Khabar. 

"  Interrupt  me  not,  whelp!"  screamed  the  pre-_ 

tender,   stamping   his   little   foot    imperiously :' 

'•Know'st  thou"?     One  word  to  my  sister,  and 

thou  art  in  chains  !" 

Khabar  took  fii-e,  and  arose  in  his  whole  ma- 
jesti.c  height  from  the  bench  on  which  he  had 
hitherto  been  sitting  before  the  Despot;  he  turn- 
ed up  the  right  sleeve  of  his  kaftan,  and,  placing 
his  left  hand  on  his  waist,  twisted  the  thumb  in 
his  glittering  girdle. 

The  pretender,  delighted  with  his  own  cour- 
age, perhaps  the  first  he  ever  exhibited,  contin- 
ued, swelling  and  heating  himself  more  and 
more — "Ivan  did  not  honour  me  as  it  became 
him  to  honour  me,  an  Emperor  and  his  own 
brother-in-law ;  so  I  have  given  all  his  rights  to 
'my  Byzantme  empire  to  the  Spanish  king,  Fer- 
dinand, and  Clueen  Isabella." 

"  Thou  ha.si  forgot,  Lord  Despot,"  said  one  of 
the  Greeks  respectfully,  "  that  thou  previously 
gavest  these  rights  to  the  French  kin^  Charles 
VIII. — that  on  that  occasion  he  clothed  himself 
in  the  purple  of  the  Constanlines,  and  trium- 
phantly styled  himself  Augustus." 

"Aye,"  contemptuously  cried  Andreas  Palse- 
ologos,  "he  ofl'ended  me;  so  I  was  wroth  with 
him,  and  gave  them  to  another.     He  is  just  such 

a  felon  as" the  Russian  Ivan" 

"  Thou  liest !"  shouted  Khabar,  and  instantly 
gave  a  slap  on  the  face  to  the  heir  of  Constantine 
the  Great  and  Augustus. 

"  Well  done!"  cried  Antony;  "he  who  know- 
eth  not  how  to  make  others  respect  him,  is  un- 
worthy of  respect." 

And  he  threw  the  gold  chain,  the  gift  of  the 
Despot,  at  the  giver's  feet.  It  was  become  a 
burden  to  the  generous  young  man. 

"  Right  well !"  echoed  some  voices ;  "  in  the 
name  of  all  Russia  we  thank  thee,  Ivan  Vassi- 
iievitch  Khabar!" 

"  Oh,  oh !"  whined  the  Despot,  holding  his 
cheek :  "  Greeks,  my  Greeks  I  take  my  part 


Your  sovereign  hath  been  insulted humil- 
iation !" 

All  was  an  uproar.  One  man  snatched  up  his 
cap  and  rushed  out;  another  sneaked  ofl"  without 
his  bonnet.  The  vigorous  bufle.t  resounded  in 
the  ear  of  the  feasters,  and  sobered  many  of  them. 
A  few  of  the  domestics  who  composed  the  Des- 
pot's court,  crowded  up  to  seize  Khabar;  but 
stopped  short,  alarmed  by  his  stern  immoveable 
attitude,  or  by  the  cries  of  the  Rus-iuns,  that 
they  would  not  leave  a  stick  of  the  house  stand- 
ing, if  so  much  as  a  hand  was  laid  upon  their 
comrade.  Perhaps  the  attendants  obeyed  Hai- 
dee's  commands  in  sparing  her  lover.  It  finish- 
ed by  the  Despot's  going,  in  the  hope  of  redress 
from  the  Great  Princess,  to  complain  to  his  mis- 
tress; and  the  hall,  a  lew  moments  ago  so  gay 
and  noisy,  became  empty  and  still.  The  last, 
who  quitted  it  were  Khabar  and  his  father's 
guest. 

At  the  gate  some  one  stopped  Khabar.  It  was 
the  Greek  girl.  She  came  not  to  reproach  him, 
(how  could  her  heart  do  that  1)  but  to  bid  hinx 
farewell — perhajis  for  long —  perhaps  she  was 
never  to  see  him  more.  How  will  they  report 
this  adventure  to  Ivan  Vassilievitch;  in  what, 
humour  will  it  find  the  terrible  ruler  1 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

DECISION    WITHOUT   APPE.tL. 

By  a  covered  passage  leading  from  the  Great 
Prince's  palace  to  the  Church  of  the  Annuncia- 
tion, which  was  constructed  at  this  period  of 
wood,  Iv^n  Vassilievitch  was  returning  from 
morning  prayer.  When  he  left  the  church  his 
face  was  cheerful,  and  bore  the  calm  expression 
left  on  it  by  his  recent  devotions ;  but  the  fur- 
ther he  advanced,  the  gloomier  and  more  wrath- 
ful grew  his  brow,  and  the  brighter  gleamed 
displeasure  in  his  glance.  Behind  him,  plunged 
in  mournful  thought,  walked  a  tall  handsome 
youth  ;  this  was  his  son  Ivan. 

They  were  followed  by  the  boyarin  Mamon. 
Neither  of  the  latter  dared  to  interrupt  the 
gloomy  silence  of  the  Great  Prince ;  Ivin  the 
Young  endeavoured  to  hush  even  the  sound  or 
his  footsteps,  so  as  not  to  offend  his  father's 
ears,  at  a  moment  when  the  slightest  imprudent; 
movement  might  give  a  fatal  direction  to  the 
e.\p!osion  of  his  displeasure  :  he  knew  that  that; 
displeasure,  if  not  exasperated  by  the  compli- 
ance or  the  selfishness  of  those  around  him,, 
might  yet  sink  back  to  rest,  or  at  least  not  lead 
to  fatal  consequences.  And  therefore  he  took: 
care  not;  to  destroy  this  chance;  like  a  skilful 
engineer,  who  gives  free  passage  to  the  flood 
swelled  by  storms,  lest  it  destroy  his  dam.  On 
the  boyarin"s  face  was  playing,  now  the  delight 
of  successful  villany,  and  then  terror ;  with 
eyes  and  ears  he  greedily  followed  every  move- 
ment of  his  sovereign.  Their  silence  resem- 
bled the  stillness  which  prevails  as  the  fatal  lots 
are  being  drawn  from  the  urn  ; — the  lot  was 
drawn.  Ivan  Vassilievitch  stopped  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  passage,  and  turning  to  his  son,  said, 
"  Hast  thou  heard,  Ivan,  what  thy  favourite 
Khabar  hath  done?" 

"I  have  heard,  my  lord;"  replied  Ivan  the 
Young,  calndy. 

"  'Tis  naught,  then,  thou  think'st,  to  strike  tho- 
Despot  of  the  Morea !" 


74 


THE    HERETIC. 


"But  wherefore!  have  they  told  thee  that, 
father  r' 

"  Neither  why  nor  wherefore  :  he  was  as- 
suredly drunk.  It  is  thanks  to  thee  that  he 
hath  worn  his  head  to  this  day." 

"  If  he  wears  that  head  from  henceforward, 
it  will  be  for  thy  good,  my  lord,  and  that  of  our 
failhful  Russia,"  replied  Ivan  the  Young,  with 
composure:  "if  he  lay  his  head  on  the  block 
for  this  matter,  I  would  kiss  that  head." 
"  How  so  V 

The  Great  Prince  looked  sternly  at  Mamon  ; 
the  latter  struggled  with  all  his  might  to  hide 
his  confusion,  and  meet  his  ruler's  eye  with 
calmness. 

"  Behold  how  the  fact  was,"  replied  Ivan  the 
Young,  with  the  countenance  of  truth.  "  Yes- 
ter  evening,  at  a  feast  in  the  palace  of  Andrei 
Phomltch,  there  were  assembled,  as  if  in  insult, 
boyarins  and  rabble,  old  and  young,  to  revel : 
Avhen  drunk,  he  made  friends  and  fellows  with 
all,  drank  to  the  health  of  a  vile  Greek  harlot, 
and  embraced  a  shoemaker  who  maketh  her 
shoes.  Thou  knowest  how  he  dishonoureth, 
by  his  debauches,  his  race,  and  bringelh  shame 
on  my  mother,  Sophia  Fhominishna.  In  the 
full  tide  of  drunkenness  he  began  to  speak  evil 
of  the  Russian  land,  saying  that  it  stands  only 
through  the  Greeks,  and  that  all  its  power  and 
honour  ariseth  from  the  Greeks;  that  but  for 
\hem,  we  should  never  have  driven  out  the 
Tartars,  nor  taken  Novgorod,  nor  built  and  ex- 
tended Moscow :  he  barked,  too,  somewhat  as 
it'  thou,  ray  lord,  did'st  not  feel  his  favour,  and 
but  scantly  honoured  him,  and  that  therefore 
lie  had  given  liis  right  to  his  Byzantine  empire, 

rot  to  thee,  but  to  the  Spanish  king" 

"  Ha,  dog !  .  .  .  .  What !  when  even  his  ken- 
nel is  given  him  out  of  charity,  and  doth  he 
give  empires  1  One  brother  playeth  the  buffoon 
lor  the  infidel  Tsar,  and  licketh  the  trenchers  in 
his  kitchen  ;  the  other  sneaketh  about  from 
corner  to  corner,  and  selleth  castles  in  the  clouds 
lo  any  one  who  is  fool  enough  to  buy  them  .  .  . 
.  .  .  Well,  what  followed  !" 

"  I  dare  not  speak  how  he  bayed  at  thee." 
"Speak!  I  command  thee." 
"  He  said,  that  he  had  not  given  thee  Con- 
stantinople, because  thou  wert  ....  I  cannot, 
father  ;  my  tongue  will  not  utter  it"  .... 
'•  Iviin,  dost  thou  know  me  ?" 
This  question  would   have  produced  an  an- 
swer even  from  the  dead. 

"  He  called  thee  '  hound,'  'accursed  dog  ;'  and 
Khabiir  thereupon  lent  him  a  buffet." 

"  Wlial !  and  he  did  not  throttle  him  !"  cried 
the  Great  Prince,  unable  to  utter  another  word 
His  eyes  gleamed  fiercely,  the  breath  seemed 
.stifled  in  his  bosom.  Calmmg  himself  a  little, 
he  said — "  And  was  it  so  in  truth  V 

'•  Ask  the  deacon   Borodatii.  the  oldest  and 
most  trustworthy  of  the  boyarins  who  were  at 
the  feast — ask  the  court  leech,  Antony." 
Ivan  Vassilievitch  grew  thoughtful. 
'•No.  it   needs   not.     Thou   say'st  it,  Ivan; 
shall  I  ask  boyarins  and  deacons  V 

The  Great  Prince  fondly  loved  his  son,  and 
was  confident  in  his  prudence  and  honesty. 

"  What  hast  thou  l)ecn  telling  me  V  he  cried, 
turning  to  Manual,  and  striking  him  with  his 
tflaff"  a  violent  blow  on  the  fai-e. 

Mauiun  felt  that  his  hfe  hung  on  a  hair,  and 


replied  with  steadiness — "  It  is  in  thy  power, 
my  Iprd,  to  execute  me;  but  I  relate  what  I 
heard  :  I  myself  was  not  at  the  banquet." 

"And  that  in  future  thou  mayest  more  care 
fully  inform  thyself,  thou  shalt  pay  Simskoi- 
Khabar  a  hundred  roubles  for  slanderirfg  him  ; 
thou  shalt  carry  it  thyself,  and  shalt  bow  thrice 
at  his  feet.     Dost  thou  hear?"  .... 

"Ivan,"  he  added,  "give  order,  that  from  this 
day  forth  they  call  him  in  every  act  Khabar.  It 
is  proJUable  to  the  Russian  Tsar  to  have  such 
brave  men.     Thou  dost  well  to  favour  him." 

"  And  how  came  the  leech  Antony  at  the 
revel  !"  enquired  the  Great  Prince  of  his  son 
when  Mamon  had  departed. 

"  Andrei  Phomitch's  Greek  concubine  had 
fallen  sick.  They  called  the  leech  in  ;  and 
when  he  had  relieved  her,  they  brought  him 
against  his  will  to  the  feast.  He  refused  to 
drink  :  they  say  the  despot  gave  him  a  gold 
chain  for  curing  the  Greek,  but  when  he  spake 
evil  of  thee,  the  leech  threw  him  back  his  gift : 
and  the  chain  was  a  rich  one." 

'Tvvas  evident  by  the  sparkling  of  the  Great 
Prince's  eyes,  that  this  news  was  agreeable  to 
him.  Nevertheless,  he  said — "  'Twas  not  wise, 
if  the  gaud  was  rich." 

Thus  was  decided  the  fate  of  Khabar.  An 
hour  earlier,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
answer  for  his  life.  Mamon  was  certain  of  the 
success  of  his  accusation,  having  the  gravity  of 
the  ofl'ence  in  his  favour,  and  the  protection, 
too,  of  Sophia.  Although  the  Great  Princess 
did  not  love  her  brother,  as  well  on  account  of 
the  weakness  of  his  character  as  of  the  profli- 
gacy so  shamefully  exhibited  on  this  occasion, 
she  nevertheless  felt  lively  and  heartfelt  indig- 
nation at  the  unheard-of  insult  which  had  been 
offered  to  him.  But  Ivan  Vassilievitch  had  de- 
cided, and  no  ties  on  earth  could  alter  his  de- 
termination. Powerless  against  that  decision, 
Sophia  felt  displeasure  against  Khabar,  and  from 
this  moment  began  to  cherish  a  feeling  of  en- 
mity towards  the  physician.  We  must  add, 
that  between  her  and  the  wife  of  Iv.in  the 
Young,  there  had  arisen  a  kind  of  jealous  rival- 
ry;  and  therefore  this  success  obtained  by  the 
young  prince  touched  her  to  the  quick.  To  her 
brother,  after  the  Great  Prince's  decision,  no- 
thing remained  but  to  quit  Russia. 

How  happened  it  that  Ivan  the  Young  played 
the  intercessor !  Boldness  even  here  befriended 
Khabar.  With  the  first  dawn  of  morning  he 
had  presented  himself  to  him,  and  related  all 
that  li.^d  occurred  at  the  despot's  banquet.  He 
summoned,  in  confirmation  of  his  words,  the 
tiny  deacon,  the  boyarin  who  had  answered 
Andrei  Phomitch.  two  of  the  guard,  and  the 
leech  Antony.  Alf  confirmed  the  truth.  We 
have  seen  that  the  noble,  straightforward  char- 
acter of  the  heir  to  the  Russian  throne,  enabled 
him  to  profit  hy  the  information  of  his  favourite 
and  the  wilnerf^es  to  whom  he  appealed,  and  to 
give  a  powerful  protection  to  truth  and  to  a 
noble  exploit. 

It  was  not  without  some  agitation  that  Kha- 
bar and  Antony  the  leech  awaited,  each  in  his 
own  dwelling,  the  catastroplie  of  this  adventure  : 
the  one,  though  ho  did  not  repent  of  what  he 
had  done,  and  would  have  repeated  it  had  the 
same  occasion  presented  itself,  though  ready 
fearlessly  to  submit  to  a  capital  punishment, 


THE    HERETIC. 


75 


yet  feared  the  shame  which  such  a  pvinishment 
would  cast  upon  his  aged  lather  and  his  maiden 
sister.  Antony  was  uneasy  for  him  on  the 
same  grounds :  he  had  begun  to  take  a  hvely 
interest  in  him,  he  sympaliiized  with  the  motives 
of  his  bold  deed — coarse,  it  is  true,  yet  at  the 
same  time  attractive  from  the  nobleness  which 
originated  it.  He  was  inclined  to  excuse  the 
very  weaknesses  of  Khabar.  In  his  desire  to 
obtain  the  good-will  of  the  Russians,  Antony, 
at  the  feast  of  yesterday,  had  endeavoured  to 
■unite  himself  with  their  party,  and  was  delighted 
that  honour  and  justice  were  also  on  that  side. 
With  peculiar  pleasure  he  heard  that  the  boya- 
rin's  retainers,  forgetting  the  title  of  heretic — a 
name  so  hateful  to  them — which  had  attached 
itself  to  him,  loudly  sang  his  praises  for  having 
thrown  back  tlie  despot's  guerdon.  Who  could 
tell  but  that,  from  this  desire  to  obtain  their  re- 
gard, he  might  perhaps  have  embraced  their 
side  even  in  a  less  laudable  quarrell  Could 
he  then  be  blamed  on  this  occasion!  Let  any 
young  man  in  his  place  cast  the  first  stone. 
His  feelings  may  be  guessed  when  he  saw  that 
circumstances  began  to  connect  him  every  day 
more  closely  with  Khabar's  fate. 

His  love  for  Anastasia,  strengthened  by  ob- 
stacles, assuredly  played  an  important  part  amid 
these  agitations  of  his  mind,  and  in  his  sympa- 
thy with  her  brother.  Without  definite  object, 
without  being  able  to  render  any  account  to 
reason,  this  love  was  nevertheless  perpetually 
acquiring  fresh  violence  :  it  made  a  still  greater 
advance  from  the  following  circumstance  : — 

When  Antony  returned  home  with  Khabar, 
the  morning,  heralding  a  splendid  day,  had  al- 
ready dawned.  To  see  their  farewell,  no  stran- 
ger could  have  guessed  that  one  of  the  young 
men  was  accounted,  by  the  famdy  of  the  other, 
a  minister  of  Satan.  Admittance  through  the 
wicket  was  obtained  for  Khabar,  by  the  devo- 
tion of  a  servant.  Antony  opened  his  gate 
with  a  key  which  he  carried  with  him.  He 
stopped  on  the  stone  steps  to  take  breath  after 
his  rapid  walk,  and  to  inhale  the  fresh  vernal 
air.  The  gardens  on  the  declivity  of  the  town 
hill,  and  beyond  the  Moskva,  were  bursting  into 
Jeaf  They  seemed  as  if  they  were  covered 
with  a  veil  of  green.  The  river  Moskva,  freed 
from  its  icy  fetters,  was  putting  off  its  thin  cur- 
tain of  mist,  as  if  to  show  the  proud  loveliness 
of  its  waters  and  the  fresh  verdure  of  its  banks. 
Through  the  fantastic  shifting  shroud  of  this 
mist,  could  be  seen  now  the  cupola  which 
crowned  the  Donskoi  monastery,  gleaming  over 
the  meadows,  then  the  white  walls  of  Simonoff. 
Hardly  had  Antony  found  time  to  cast  an  eager 
and  delighted  glance  over  this  picture,  so  new 
to  him,  when  the  well-remembered  window 
creaked  over  his  head  ;  he  looked,  and — can 
he  trust  his  eyes! — does  he  dream! — at  the 
window  appears  Anastasia,  at  an  hour  when 
the  birds  had  hardly  begun  lazily  to  prune  their 
wings.  Yes,  'tis  she,  but  pale  and  sorrowful. 
It  seemed  to  Antony,  from  the  appearance  of 
her  eyes,  that  she  had  been  weeping,  and  that 

she  shook  her  head  as  if  reproachfully He 

doffed  his  bonnet,  and  stood  before  her  with 
his  hands  clasped,  as  if  imploring  her  for  some 
grace  ;  but  the  fatal  window  closed — the  lovely 
vision  vanished. 

Not  knowing  what  to  think  of  this  mournful 


apparition,  Antony  remained  for  some  moments 
on  the  steps  ;  but  seeing  that  the  window  did 
not  again  open,  and  fearing  some  indiscreet  wit- 
ness, he  entered  iiis  own  abode.  Anastasia  is 
sad — she  passes  her  night  in  tears  !  he  thought ; 
and  remembering  all  the  marks  of  interest  she 
had  shown  him — him,  a  foreigner,  one  detested 
by  her  father — he  felt  a  sad  yet  sweet  sensa- 
tion, and  applied  to  himself,  with  a  feeling  of 
pride  and  love,  the  appearance  of  to-day.  He  fell 
asleep  when  the  sun  was  already  high  ;  but  even 
in  his  sleep  the  form  of  Anastasia  left  him  not. 

Together  with  his  heart  examine  the  heart  of 
the  maiden,  brought  up  in  domestic  seclusion, 
who  had  never  left  her  chamber-cell,  nor  passed 
beyond  the  bounds  of  her  garden,  and  suddenly 
touched  with  love.  Add  to  this,  that  she  every 
day  beholds  the  object  of  her  affection ;  add, 
too,  her  father's  detestation  of  that  object ;  add, 
too,  that  she  was  bewitched  ;  that  she,  a  mor- 
tal, could  not  hope  to  oppose  the  supernatural 
powers,  which  were  not  to  be  chased  away  even 
by  the  most  passionate,  the  most  ardent  prayer. 
After  analyzing  all  this,  can  it  be  wondered  at, 
that  she  had  already  ceased  to  oppose  those 
powers,  and  that  she  yielded  herself  to  the  en- 
chantment !  Eagerly  tracing  the  steps  of  the 
beloved  stranger,  Anastasia  had  remarked  his 
departure  from  the  house,  the  day  before,  with 
her  brother — with  her  brother,  who  led  a  lite  of 
revel,  whom  her  father  frequently  reprimanded 
for  his  nocturnal  excursions.  Was  it  surprising 
that  he  should  seduce  her  lover  also  into  this 
life  of  dissipation  !  Long  did  she  wait  for  An- 
tony, but  Antony  returned  not.  Never  yet  had 
he  been  so  late  :  in  her  breast  jealousy  began 
to  speak  :  she  reproached  her  brother,  she  re- 
proached the  beloved  stranger,  with  whom  she 
had  never  yet  exchanged  a'word,  but  whom  she 
already  accounted  hers.  She  was  melancholy, 
she  was  displeased,  she  accused  herself  of  cold- 
ness, she  wept.  And  at  last  he  came.  Let  him 
see  her  weaknese,  let  him  know  that  she  had 
been  weeping,  and  for  him  ! 

The  poor  bird  was  alarmed  at  mid-day,  by  the 
appearance  of  the  cruel  vulture  which  had  so 
often  hovered  round  her  nest.  Again  appeared 
Mamon  in  the  house  of  Obrazetz  ;  but  this  time 
not  as  the  proud  messenger  of  the  Great  Prince, 
but  as  a  culprit,  in  the  custody  of  two  of  the  con- 
stables and  two  armed  retainers.  Before  they 
led  him  from  his  house  they  had  deprived  him 
of  his  weapons. 

In  the  name  of  the  Lord  Great  Prince,  they 
asked  for  Simskoi-Khabar,  son  of  the  voevoda. 
It  was  not  without  some  fluttering  of  the  heart 
that  he  awaited  his  sentence  of  death.  Instead 
of  his  doom,  they  informed  him  that  the  boya- 
rin  Mamon,  by  order  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch  had 
brought  him  a  hundred  roubles  as  a  fine  for 
slandering  Khabar,  and  was  to  strike  the  earth 
with  his  forehead  ;  yes,  he  had  come,  that  Ma- 
mon, the  proud,  the  terrible,  the  vengeful,  to  beg 
pardon  of  his  foe  !  And  how  could  he  refuse 
to  come!  he  was  sent  by  the  Great  Prince, 
Ivan  Vassilievitch.  Horrible  was  the  expres- 
sion of  his  saffron  face,  distorted  by  the  furies 
of  his  soul,  his  bloodshot  eyes,  his  forest  of  sa- 
ble hair,  wildly  standing  on  end.  In  such  a 
form  would  the  artist  represent  Satan,  fettered 
by  supernal  power. 

And  he  came,  and  gave  Khabar  a  hundred 


76 


THE    HERETIC. 


roubles.— "A  hundred  roubles  in  full  count,' 
said  he  in  a  rirm  voice,  and  fell  prostrate  hum 
bl)  before  his  foe, — once  twice. — "  That  was  for 
tlie  Prince  !"  he  cried  ;  "  but  this  is  mine," 
bending  over  Khabar's  foot,  and  leaving  on  it  a 
deep  bloody  impression  of  his  teeth.  "  That  is 
my  mark,"  he  repeated  with  an  infernal  laugh. 
Well  was  he  named  Mamon.  Khabar  uttered 
a  cry,  so  severely  was  he  wounded,  and  his 
first  movement  was  to  tear  a  handful  out  of  his 
opponent's  beard.     They  were  instantly  parted. 

"  To  the  lists  !  I  challenge  thee  to  the  held  !" 
shouted  Mamon. 

"  To  the  fit^ld  !"  cried  Khabar  :  "  it  hath  long 
been  time.     Let  God  judge  between  us." 

And  the  foes,  having  kissed  the  cross,  and 
chosen  seconds  and  sponsors,  separated,  thirs- 
ting for  each  other's  blood. 

Obrazetz,  not  desiring  to  witness  his  enemy's 
huindiation,  was  not  present  at  this  scene. 
When  made  acquainted  with  this  catastrophe, 
he  blessed  his  son.  Notwithstanding  the  se- 
vere mierdiction  of  the  ecclesiastical  powers,  it 
was  held  disgraceful  to  refuse  the  trial  by  com- 
bat, to  which  any  man  was  free  to  challenge 
another  for  a  blow  ;  and  the  prohibition  of  the 
ecclesiastical  fathers  was  terrific  :*  "And  what- 
soever man  schal  be  deffyed  vnto  y  Feeld,  and 
schal  com  vnto  anie  Preeste  for  that  hee  maie 
receve  y'  Holie  Sacrament,  the  sam  schal  in  noe 
'wyse  com  to  y'  Holie  Communion,  or  kisse  y 
Crosse  :  and  whoso  schal  slay  a  man  yn  ye  sayde 
Feelde  schal  utterly  destroie  and  kil  hys  soule  ; 
and  eftir  y'  wordys  of  Basilius  the  Crete,  hee 
schal  be  called  and  hy^ht  an  Assassin,  and 
schal  nat  com  ynto  y«  Chirche,  nor  receive  y" 
gyftis,  nor  y=  -brede,  nor  receve  y''  Holie  Sacra- 
ment eight  and  tene  yearis  ....  He  who  ys 
slayne,  him  schal  tHey  nat  bury."  What  a  sen- 
tence for  our  religious,  god-fearing  ancestors  ! 
But  honour,  (though  under  another  name,) 
which  to  them  was  dearer  than  every  thing, 
claimed  in  their  estimation  the  foremost  place. 

When  they  carried  the  news  of  this  challenge 
to  the  Great  Prince,  he  said — "Now  it  is  not 
my  affair,  but  the  affair  of  the  soudebnik." 

The  soudebnik  contained  the  following  law : — 
"  Whosoever  schal  pluck  or  tere  anothere  man- 
ny's  iierd,  and  gif  a  vvetenesse  schal  testefic 
thereunto,  the  sam  schal  kiss  the  Crosse  and 
doe  battel  in  y'  Feeld." 

Against  the  law,  laid  down  by  the  Great 
Prince  himself,  with  his  son  and  the  boyarins, 
it  was  impossible  to  go;  only  it  was  ordered 
that  the  combat  should  not  take  place  before 
the  army  returned  from  Tver :  for  the  cam- 
paign they  needed  a  brave  soldier  like  Khabar. 

The  word  "  Field"  cast  a  gloom  over  the 
house  of  Obrazetz,  which,  even  without  this 
cause  of  anxiety,  was  not  too  gay.  This  word 
fell  like  the  stroke  of  a  dagger  on  Anastasia's 
heart ;  she  knew  that  she  was  the  cause  of  the 
terrible  enmity  between  her  father  and  Mamon, 
and  might  become  that  of  her  brother's  death. 
The  word  "  Field"  long  went  through  the 
houses,  an  in  our  days  the  fatal  card  with  the 
black  border  and  death's  heads.  The  passenger 
going  by  the  dwellings  of  Manuin  and  Obrazetz, 
might  already  scent  in  imagination  the  odour 
of  incense  and  of  corpses. 


*  yi(U  the  iiicsxagc  of  llio  I'rimato  IMioIliis  lo  Uic  cili- 
zons  of  N6vgoro(l,  In  lUO.—.Vute  of  the  .-luthor. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    CROSS. 


"  Ah,  nurse,  dear  nurse — I  feel  so  wearv, 

So  sad  :iiid  ill — I  sigh  and  sob 

Oh,  feel  how  my  poor  heart  is  Dealing !"  .  .. 
"  Alas  !  thou  must  be  sick,  my  sweeting!" 

Help  my  child,  O  Lord,  and  save! 

VVhate'er  thou  wishest,  asli  and  have  .... 

Let  the  holy  water  bless  thee ! 

Thy  |K>or  cheek  is  burning,  dove"  .... 
"  1  am  not  ill,  nurse  .  .  .  I'm  ...  in  love." 

POUSHKIN. 

KHAB.tR's  confidence  in  Antony  the  leech  was 
so  great,  that  he  begged  him  to  cure  him  of  the 
injuries  inflicted  by  the  living  weapon.  The 
wound  was  tolerably  deep;  but  how  can  we 
e.xpect  a  young  gallant,  hardened  by  Russian 
snows,  and  the  fatalism  of  his  country,  to  pay 
any  attention  to  danger  !  Under  the  operation 
performed  by  Antony  upon  his  foot,  he  no  more 
winced  than  if  a  bee  had  slightly  stung  him. 
Thanks  to  the  force  of  youth  and  strength,  and 
to  the  vigorous  remedies  employed  by  the  phy- 
sician, his  cure  was  rapid  :  but  even  before  his- 
recovery,  he  showed  himself  to  his  comrades, 
and,  covered  by  the  veil  of  night,  robbed  the 
pretender  to  the  Byzantine  throne  of  some  of 
his  Haidee's  burning  kisses.  The  only  thing^ 
that  disquieted  Khabar  in  this  aflliir,  was  the 
sorrow  of  his  sister;  the  cause  of  which  was 
nothing  but  her  lively  interest  in  him :  that 
there  was  any  other  cause  he  did  not  evea 
suspect. 

Anastasia,  who  was  now  enabled  to  attribute 
her  melancholy  to  the  campaign  which  was  so 
soon  to  separate  her  from  her  brother,  and  to 
the  approaching  combat,  no  longer  restrained 
her  grief,  no  longer  stilled  her  tears  within  her 
bosom.  They  assured  her  that  the  combat 
would  not  take  place— that  the  Great  Prince, 
by  his  all-powerful  command,  had  reconciled, 
the  foes ;  that  Khabar  would  content  himself 
with  exacting  the  fine  of  a  few  altntes  fixed  by 
law  for  a  Uoodi/  wound,  and  that  the  whole  ai- 
fair  woidd  be  forgotten.  These  assurance* 
tranquillized  her  on  her  brother's  account,  and 
at  the  same  time  concentrated  all  her  thoughts 
upon  one  object,  all  the  energies  of  her  soul, 
that  had  before  been  divided  between  two  per- 
sons e(]ually  dear  to  her. 

Equally  dear  ]  God  only  knows !  His  eye 
alone,  glancing  to  the  depth  of  her  breast,  could 
see  that  her  allection  preponderated  to  the  side 
of  the  heretic,  so  completely  had  enchantment 
mastered  her  soul. 

Anastasia,  during  a  whole  day,  looked  and 
listened  as  the  troops  were  assembling  for  the 
campaign.  Formerly  she  had  delighted  to  gaze 
from  her  window  on  their  movements,  so  trium- 
phant, so  full  of  life  ;  she  consoled  herself  vviili 
the  thought,  that  the  departure  of  the  greater 
part  of  the  young  gallants  of  Moscow  would 
give  her  more  freedom  to  walk  in  the  gardens 
with  her  companions,  and  to  dance  the  round. 
But  now  the  sight  of  these  troops  was  intolera- 
ble to  her  ;  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  besieging 
her,  and  blockading  her  father's  house.  Did 
she  open  the  window  towards  the  river  MoskvS, 
along  the  Great  Street  were  filing  dense  mas- 
ses of  soldiers  :  did  she  go  to  the  other  case- 
ment— she  saw  the  priests  by  the  churches  of 
the  city  blessing  the  standards  ;  fathers,  moth- 
ers,  and    kinsmen,    incessantly   entering    the 


THE    HERETIC. 


77 


House  of  God,  to  perform  the  ceremony  of 
yostriga  on  their  children,  and  to  say  prayers 
for  the  fortunate  result  of  the  campaign — she 
saw  Iv&n  the  Young  reviewing  the  troops.  Did 
she  open  the  window  that  looked  into  the  stran- 
ger's court-yard — there  she  saw  nothing  .  .  .  . 
tears  dimmed  her  eyes,  and,  sitting  in  the  cor- 
ner of  her  maiden  bower,  she  could  not  forget 
herself:  around  her  resounded  the  clattering  of 
horse's  hoofs  along  the  wooden  pavement,  and 
penetrated  to  her  chamber.  On  all  sides  she 
\vas  besieged  with  signs  of  separation  ;  her 
heart  was  overwhelmed  with  insupportable  an- 
guish. 

In  our  times,  an  excellent  education,  the  pre- 
cepts of  the  mother  and  the  governess,  select 
reading,  instruction  from  infancy  in  the  laws  of 
God,  moral  examples,  and  the  relations  of  soci- 
ety, early  guard  the  young  girl's  heart  from  the 
sunken  rocks  past  which  she  has  to  sail ;  teach 
her  intellect  to  be  ever  on  the  watch  against 
lemptation,  and  to  distinguish  falsehood  from 
truth,  what  is  injurious  from  what  is  profitable. 
What  guarded  the  hearts  of  our  great-grand- 
inothers  from  temptation  but  walls  and  fences  ^ 
"What  was  their  reasonable  education,  what  the 
precepts  and  examples,  what  the  social  relations, 
v.-jiich  could  impress  upon  them  the  dangers  of 
love,  and  prepare  the  maiden's  heart  for  the 
trials  it  was  to  undergo  1  A  mother  :  a  frequent 
recourse  to  God  and  the  saints,  it  is  true,  was 
the  substitute — and  sometimes  an  admirable 
one — for  much  of  our  modern  education.  But 
the  precepts  of  the  mother  were,  for  the  most 
part,  confined  to  a  rigid  command  to  beware  of 
the  Evil  Eye,  to  use  the  cross  and  prayers  as  a 
..protection  against  diabolic  influences;  and  what- 
ever good  might  have  been  effected  by  the  moth- 
er's exhortations  in  the  heart  of  the  daughter, 
ivas  too  frequently  neutralized  by  the  absurd 
conversation  of  the  nurse  and  the  tirewoman — 
tales  about  the  adventures  of  bold  and  handsome 
princes,  and  songs  fnll  of  the  sweetness  and 
melancholy  of  love.  The  walls  vvere  high,  the 
tower  and  the  chamber  of  the  maiden  were 
strongly  guarded  ;  but,  let  once  apportunity  aid 
.the  inclination,  or  the  mere  curiosity,  of  the 
-heart — ^once  that  barrier  passed,  and  sin,  if  not 
passion,  triumphed  over  all — over  the  ties  of 
family,  over  maiden  shame,  over  religion.  How 
numerous  were  the  examples  of  boyarins'  daugh- 
ters, tempted  by  wandering  gallants,  flying  with 
them  to  the  wild  greenwood,  and  there  leading, 
Mith  their  paramours,  a  rude  and  robber  life! 
Songs — those  faithfulest  legends  of  manners — 
prove  this  better  than  any  thing. 

However  it  might  be,  whether  from  unreason- 
ing pliancy,  the  influence  of  the  fiend,  or  the  law 
of  nature,  Anastasia  was  entirely  mastered  by 
'her  love,  and  no  longer  dreamed  of  opposing  a 
feeling  which  she  attributed  to  magic.  Like  her 
companions,  she  had  hved  in  maiden  seclusion, 
■was  nourished  in  the  same  prejudices,  felt  the 
influence  of  the  same  tales  and  songs  as  dis- 
turbed the  judgment  of  her  friends;  and,  re- 
mark, she  had  not  above  her  a  mother's  eye — 
"a  mother's  daily  blessing;  besides,  every  day 
afforded  her  the  opportunity  of  beholding  the 
young  and  attractive  foreigner,  from  whom  she 
was  separated  only  by  a  fence  of  wood  ;  and 
•cannot  the  heart  overleap  such  barriers  ! 

And  thus  Anastasia,  given  up  wholly  to  her 


love,  was  agitated  by  the  thought  that  she  was 
to  be  separated  for  a  long  period  from  the  objejt 
of  her  affection.  However  she  might  examine 
her  heart,  however  she  might  struggle  lo  ex- 
pel from  it  the  Latiner,  the  Papist,  the  necro- 
mancer—she could  not  do  it.  Think  as  earnestly 
as  she  might,  she  could  not  tell  the  meaning  of 
the  words  "  Latmer"  and  '•  Papist ;"  something 
it  must  he,  and  something  terrible— evidently, 
it  meant  a  servant  of  the  Evil  One— of  that  sort 
accursed  by  the  holy  councils.  However,  her 
godson,  Andriousha,  had  often  assured  her — had 
sworn  by  all  the  saints — that  Antony  was  a 
Christian,  that  he  believed  in  God,  the  Holy 
Virgin,  and  the  Saints  of  God.  How  was  she 
to  examine  into  this ;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
how  was  she  to  save  him  from  the  agonies  of 
hein  Long  and  earnestly  did  she  meditate  on 
this,  till  at  last  her  heart  inspired  her  with  a 
great  project — difficult,  indeed,  for  a  maiden 
brought  up  in  rigid  orthodo.xy.  What  could  be 
more  precious  to  her  than  the  crucifix  which 
she  always  wore  suspended  round  her  neck^ 
This  holy  thing,  the  sacred  present  of  her  moth- 
er, had  never  left  her  person  since  her  baptism. 
It  guarded  her  from  sickness  and  misfortune, 
from  the  thunderbolt,  and  from  the  nrwlignant 
beams  of  the  star  that  strikes  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night.  It  linked  her  to  heaven,  to  all  that 
her  burning  faith  had  imaged  there,  to  her  guar- 
dian angel.  This  sacred  talisman,  the  pledge 
of  purity  of  thought  and  feeling,  had  plighted  her 
to  the  Lord  ;  it  was  to  descend,  a  holy  heritage, 
to  her  posterity,  as  it  had  come  down  to  her 
from  her  grandmother  and  great-grandmother, 
or  accompany  her  to  the  grave,  a  sinless  and 
godly  virgin.  She  would  have  to  present  it  at 
the  terrible  day  of  doom,  without  spot,  without 
the  rust  of  deadly  sin  ;  and  yet  with  this  holy 
relic,  this  sacred  heirloom  of  family  and  heaven, 
she  resolved  to  part — she  resolved  to  give  it  to  a 
heretic  to  save  his  soul  ....  and  lose  her  own  ! 
....  no,  it  would  be  a  good  work  to  turn  a 
Latiner  to  the  orthodox  faith.  What  struggles, 
what  agonies,  what  prayers,  did  not  this  sacri- 
fice cost  her  !  .  .  .  and  yet  she  determined  to 
make  it. 

To  the  performance  of  her  intention  Andriou- 
sha was  necessary  ;  he  was  her  godson,  and  the 
confident  of  all  the  secrets  of  her  heart.  She 
began  to  expect  him  with  impatience— time  was 
precious. 

Her  father  and  brother  had  gone  to  the  Field 
of  Koutchkoff  to  see  Aristotle  prove  an  enor- 
mous cannon— the  triumph  of  his  skill  in  found- 
ery.  The  greater  part  of  the  domestics  had  ac- 
companied them.  Andriousha  had  come  to 
visit  his  friend  Antony,  but  had  not  found  him 
at  home.  The  boy  was  preparing  for  the  'post- 
riga,  (to  which  the  Great  Prince  had  consent- 
ed, notwithstanding  his  little  favourite's  not 
having  attained  the  legal  age  for  warfare,  six- 
teen years.)  Perhaps  he  feared  that  he  would 
not  have  another  opportunity,  before  his  de- 
parture, of  seeing  his  godmother,  whom  he  so 
fondly  loved.  He  was  sorry  to  leave  Anastasia, 
she  was  so  pretty,  so  caressing  ;  she  kissed  him 
so  sweetly,  just  as  his  mother  had  been  wont  to 
kiss  him  ;  and  he  came  to  bid  her  farewell. 

Hovi'  was  Anastasia  to  begin  the  confidence 
which  she  was  about  to  make  to  her  godson  ! 
She  prepared  to  speak,  and  yet  she  trembled  ; 


78 


THE    HERETIC. 


she  was  as  pale  as  death,  as  though  she  were 
summoning  up  her  courage  to  do  some  great 
crime.  Andriousha  remarked  her  agitation,  and 
inquired  if  she  was  not  ill. 

"  I  am  not  well,"  said  Anastasia  ;  and  then, 
after  a  short  pause,  making  an  extraordinary 
effort,  she  took  Andriousha  by  the  hand,  pressed 
it  eagerly,  and  asked  him  if  he  loved  his  god- 
mother. 

'•  Next  to  my  father,  those  whom  I  love  most 
are  thyself  and  Antony,"  cried  the  boy,  kissmg 
her  hand. 

From  the  maiden's  innate  modesty,  and  be- 
cause it  was  contrary  to  the  Russian  customs, 
she  had  never  before  allowed  him  to  kiss  her 
hand  ;  but  now  she  only  gently  drew  it  back ; 
then  arose  and  looked  if  there  was  any  one  at 
the  door  of  the  hall :  as  soon  as  she  was  con- 
vinced that  no  one  could  hear  her  conversation 
except  Andriousha,  she  asked  him  whether  he 
loved  the  leech. 

"  Again  I  say,  I  know  not  what  I  would  not 
do  for  him  and  for  thee!"  replied  Andriousha, 
in  a  voice  of  lively  interest. 

"  If  so,  I  would  ask  thee  touching  a  matter. 
Didst  thou  not  tell  me  that  Antony  is  baptized  1" 

"  I  did." 

"That  he  helieveth,  as  we  do,  in  the  Lord 
God,  the  Holy  Mother,  and  the  Holy  Saints !" 

•'  I  am  ready,  even  now,  to  swear  it." 

"  Wherefore,  then,  say  they  that  he  weareth 
no  cross "?" 

"  My  friend  is  wont  to  say,  that  his  cross  is  in 
his  heart." 

"  I  understand  thee  not.  That  is  something 
strange  to  me.  Behold  now,  if  all  this  be  so, 
if  he  be  not  leagued  with  the  Evil  Spirit,  will  he 
not  put  on  my  cross  !" 

The  boy's  eyes  sparkled.  "  Love  me  no 
more,  let  me  never  again  behold  thee,"  he  cried, 
"  if  my  friend  doth  not  put  on  thy  cross,  and 
wear  it." 

"  I  will  then  ....  I  will  give  him  my  cross 
....  But  hark  thee,  Andriousha,  my  dove"  .... 
she  could  not  finish  ;  but  he  instinctively  under- 
stood that  in  her  words  there  was  a  question  of 
life  and  death. 

Wiih  a  trembling  hand,  flushed  and  agitated, 
Anastasia  took  off  her  cross.  It  was  a  large 
silver  crucifix,  bearing  an  image  of  the  Saviour 
in  black  enamel ;  a  small  hag  was  attached  to 
it.  Gazing  fearfully  towards  the  door,  she  sus- 
pended it  round  Andriousha's  neck,  carefully 
concealing  it  in  his  bosom.  A\\  this  was  done 
with  great  haste  and  agitation,  as  though  she 
feared  that  her  resolution  would  fail :  her  fin- 
gers were  entangled  in  tlie  silken  string,  and  she 
with  difficulty  disengaged  them. 

"Tell  him  to  cross  himself  in  our  manner* 
when  he  lieth  down  to  rest,  and  when  he  wakelh 
from  his  sleep,"  continued  Anastasia;  "and 
beware,  .\ndri6usha,  betray  me  not ;  do  not 
ruin  me  !  .  .  .  .  reveal  not  to  my  father  that  .... 
Swear  it !" 

She  said,  "  to  her  father"  only,  confident  that 
her  godson  would  never  divulge  it  to  any  one 
else. 


*  The  RuMinn  mode  of  making  the  tiftk  of  the  cross 
difTcra  from  the  oninc  rite  ns  performed  by  the  Roman 
Catholics.  In  both  chmh  llic  tingcrs  nre  curried  fir^t  to 
the  fort'head,  hut  (hence,  in^trnd  of  applying  iheni  to  ihe 
Irfl  khonlder.  n»  the  Catholic  docs,  the  Riissinn  proceeds 
to  Uic  right.— T.  B.  8. 


And  Andriousha,  trembling  like  the  accom- 
plice in  some  crime,  bound  himself  to  secrecy 
by  the  most  solemn  oath  he  could  think  of — 
'•  Maybe,"  he  added,  imperfectly  comprehending 
his  godmother's  agitation,  and  desiring  to  tran- 
quillize himself  and  her,  "  maybe,  Nastia,  we 
shall  convert  him  to  our  faith  by  this  cross. 
God  knoweth  whether  this  gift  of  thine  may 
not  be  on  his  breast,  when  thou  standest  with 
him  in  the  church,  under  the  crown. "t 

"  No,  Andriousha  ;  speak  not  to  me  of  the 
crown  ....  It  is  not  for  that  I  do  this  ....  I 
only  grieve  that  he  is  a  heretic  ....  I  would 
save  him  from  the  molten  pitch  in  the  other 
world"  .... 

"  Oh,  Nastia,  if  he  goeth  not  to  Paradise,  who 
can  hope  to  come  there  V 

The  nurse's  cough  was  heard  ;  the  pair,  who 
had  concluded  their  secret  treaty,  hastened  to 
recover  from  their  confusion,  and  bid  farewell 
to  each  other.  Andriousha  promised  to  visit  his 
godmother  again  before  his  departure  with  the 
army. 

When  Andriousha  was  gone,  Anastasia  felt 
her  bosom  cold,  cold,  as  though  a  mass  of  ice 
lay  on  it.  She  was  plunged  in  tormenting 
thoughts,  and  now  for  the  first  time  there  rush- 
ed into  her  mind  the  difficulty  of  concealing 
from  her  nurse  the  absence  of  her  cross.  Where 
could  she  have  put  it  !  where  lost  it !  Forget- 
ting what  had  passed,  she  murmured  to  herself 
incoherent  words,  then  felt  for  her  crucifix,  and 
missing  it,  was  in  agonies  of  despair.  She  had 
exchanged  her  mother's  blessing  for  deadly  sin  ; 
she  had  sold  herself  to  Satan.  Poor  maiden  I 
It  was  clear  she  was  brought  to  this  by  necro- 
mantic power." 

■'What  aileth  thee,  my  dear1"  enquired  the 
nurse  ;  "  thou  art  all  on  fire  ;  thou  sittest  shud- 
dering, and  murmurest  unintelligible  words." 

"  I  am  ill,  dear  nurse  ;  I  know  not  what  I  ail 
myself" 

"  Hath  not  some  evil  eye  beheld  thee  ]  hast 
thou  not  caught  cold  !  Drink  some  Epiphany 
water,  my  darling  ;  'twill  take  away  thine  ail- 
ment like  a  charm.'' 

.\nastasia  took  her  nurse's  advice :  with  a 
prayer  and  a  sign  of  the  cross  she  drank  the 
water,  and  felt  somewhat  relieved.  Was  it  to 
last  long  ?" 


CHAPTER  XX. 


THE    KNIGHT    POPPEL. 

This  is  the  place  to  relate  how  a  new  charac- 
ter appeared  to  take  a  share  in  the  drama  of 
our  hero,  and  perhaps  to  perform  one  of  the 
most  important  parts.  This  was  Nicholas  Pop- 
pel,  a  knight  of  the  empire,  the  nephew  and 
adopted  son  of  the  Baron  Ehrenslein.  Tall, 
handsome,  active,  haughty,  and  self-confident, 
he  possessed  all  the  extertor  merits,  and  all  the 
brilliant  vices,  calculated  to  please  a  courtier 
who  possessed  the  same  qualities  Ehrenstein, 
in  adopting  him,  had  gratified,  at  the  same  time, 
himself  and  the  Emperor,  who  showed  peculiar 


t  Durlni;  the  celehralion  of  the  Kussian  marriage  cere- 

I  niony,  two  crowns  are  held,  one   over  the  head  of  the 

brldv,  and  Ih.-  other  over  that  of  the  bridc(tro«ini.»  This 

offlre  Is   performed   l>y  ixsrsons  chosen   from  nmong  the 

1  wedding  party  l>y  the  "  happy  pair.'— T.  I).  S. 


THE    HERETIC, 


favour  to  Poppel  on  account  of  the  journey  he 
had  made  to  Muscovy,  a  land  of  wonders,  as  it 
was  then  represented.  The  Emperor  expressed 
his  satisfaction  at  the  excellent  selection  which 
the  baron  had  made ;  after  this,  li.ow  could  the 
baron,  devoted  as  he  was  to  ambition,  thinking 
of  nothing  but  his  own  advancement,  allow  him- 
self to  entertain  so  much  as  the  thought  of  con- 
fessing, that  a  son  of  his — a  leech — who  had 
been  renounced  by  him  from  his  infancy,  had  it 
in  his  power  to  stain  for  ever  an  escutcheon, 
which  he  himself  considered  equal  to  the  blazon 
of  many  a  crowned  head  !  How  could  he  ven- 
ture, by  the  discovery  of  his  fatal  secret,  to  irri- 
tate his  sovereign  I  His  heart  was  hackneyed 
in  the  struggle  after  courtly  laurels,  and  the 
voice  of  nature  was  unheard  amid  the  cliorus 
of  passions,  singing  their  music  upon  one  and 
the  same  motive.  It  seemed  as  though  all  cir- 
cumstances concurred  to  cherish  in  his  heart 
this  petty  passion,  and  to  extinguish  the  famtest 
spark  of  conscience — all  things— even  the  court 
at  which  he,  with  others  like  himself,  were  roll- 
ing the  wheel  of  fortune  over  the  wrecks  of 
feudalism — even  the  guide  himself  of  this  wheel. 
The  court  was  plunged  in  frivolity ;  the  Em- 
peror, by  his  littleness  of  soul,  made  foreign  na- 
tions wonder,  and  his  own  despise.  This  em- 
peror was  Frederick  HI.,  a  monarch  powerful 
in  the  resources  of  his  empire  ;  but  contempti- 
ble in  those  of  his  own  character.  We  remem- 
ber how  he  terrified  the  Roman  Pontiff  by  fall- 
ing unexpectedly  upon  him  on  Christmas  Eve, 
and  how  all  this  menace,  which  made  Rome  fly 
to  arms,  finished  by  Frederick's  kissing  the 
Pope's  hand  and  foot,  holding  his  stirrup,  pub- 
licly reading  the  gospel  in  the  habit  of  a  canon 
of  the  Church,  and  at  last  departing  amidst  the 
laughter  of  the  very  persons  who  had  been  so 
terrified  by  him.  Greatness  of  mind  and  weak- 
ness in  a  sovereign,  are  communicated  to  his 
court,  and  influences  even  the  popular  masses. 
This  was  said  long,  long  ago,  and  has  often  been 
repeated  :  was  it  wonderful  that  the  character 
of  the  baron,  weak,  frivolous,  inconstant,  per- 
petually waHowing  in  the  slough  of  selfishness 
and  vanity,  should  have  found  a  new  source  of 
baseness  in  the  vices  of  his  sovereign  1  If  even 
he  did  think  of  his  son,  it  vvas  only  how  to  pre- 
vent any  hint  of  his  plebeian  existence  from 
reaching  the  ears  of  the  Emperor  and  of  his 
courtiers.  To  the  honour  of  our  times,  such 
characters  appear  to  us  monstrous;  but  in  the 
fifteenth  century,  and  even  for  a  considerable 
time  later,  they  were  not  unfrequent. 

Hearing  of  Antony's  love  for  science,  hearing 
of  the  attachment  exhibited  towards  him  by 
the  leech  Fioraventi,  the  baron  was  delighted 
both  at  the  one  and  the  other  :  both  the  one  and 
the  other  would  break  for  ever  his  humiliating 
connexion  with  the  disinherited  son.  The  self- 
devoting  love  of  the  baroness  for  her  child  did 
not  alarm  her  husband ;  on  this  side  he  was 
secured  by  Amalia's  oath,  that  she  would  never 
dare  to  disclose  the  secret  of  Antony's  birth,  nor 
attempt  to  claim  for  him  his  lawful  inheritance. 
Under  this  condition  she  was  permitted  to  see 
her  son  at  the  poor  Bohemian  castle  ;  after  her 
interviews  with  him,  she  had  more  than  once 
attempted  to  touch  the  heart  of  the  cruel  father ; 
but  failing  in  this,  and  only  irritating  her  hus- 
band by  her  pertinacity  till  he  treated  her  more 


coarsely  than  before,  she  retired  altogether  to- 
the  Bohemian  castle.  There  she  shut  herself 
up,  as  if  in  a  convent,  passing  her  days  in  pray- 
ers for  the  welfare  of  her  favourite.  The  choice 
of  Poppel  as  the  heir  to  their  name  and  rank: 
would  have  cruelly  wounded  her,  had  not  the 
tidings  from  Moscow, which  she  received  througli 
the  countrymen  of  the  Jew  Zacharias,  faithiul 
to  his  promise  of  gratitude — tidings  of  the  fa- 
vour shown  by  the  Tsar  of  that  country,  and 
honours  heaped  upon  her  son — consoled  the  un- 
happy mother.  From  this  moment  all  her 
thoughts  and  feelings  turned  towards  the  East. 
Muscovy  became  dearer  to  her  than  her  native 
land.  This  country,  which  she  had  hitherto 
accounted  barbarous,  she  began  to  figure  to  her- 
self as  a  kind  of  Eden  :  its  mere  name  threw 
her  into  a  sweet  agitation  ;  she  drank  in  with 
greediness  all  reports  about  it,  to  trace  in  them 
some  slightest  vestige  of  her  darling  son. 
There  he  would  be  happy  without  his  baronial 
title — there  he  was  safe  !  Why  should  not  An- 
tony remain  in  Muscovy  1  At  his  first  call  she 
determined  herself  to  retire  to  that  country — 
that  land  which  her  heart  had  drawn  nearer  to 
herself.  There  even  death  itself  would  be 
sweet,  with  him  for  whose  sake  alone  life  was 
precious  to  her.  We  have  seen  that  the  bar- 
on's tranquillity  on  the  score  of  his  disinterest- 
ed son  had  been  disturbed  by  Fioraventi's  inti- 
mation, that  he  had  been  devoted  to  the  profes- 
sion of  physic  :  we  have  seen  how  the  baron 
quitted  his  defensive  attitude,  and  began  to  act 
on  the  offensive  by  menaces  of  employing  more 
formidable  weapons — menaces  which  had  driv- 
en Antony  to  take  shelter  under  the  protection 
of  the  Great  Prince.  In  the  niean  time,  the 
reports  of  the  favour  shown  by  that  ruler  to  the 
leech  Ehrenstein  still  further  alarmed  the  proud 
father,  and  necessitated  a  new  and  more  anx- 
ious vigilance.  He  began  to  apprehend  that 
Antony,  by  means  of  the  intercourse  between 
Ivan  and  the  Emperor,  now  become  more  fre- 
quent, might  endeavour,  at  the  instigation  of 
Fioraventi,  to  pursue  his  lost  rights,  and  disclose 
all  the  secret  of  his  birth  and  education,  all  so 
humiliating  to  a  baronial  heart ;  and  therefore, 
on  ascertaining  that  the  Emperor  had  deter- 
mined on  dispatching  a  new  ambassador  to 
Muscovy,  to  confirm  and  strengthen  his  amica- 
ble relations  with  its  sovereign,  he  succeeded  in 
having  this  mission  confided  to  his  nephew  and 
heir,  Poppel.  To  this  Frederick  HI.  the  more 
readily  consented,  from  Poppel  having  been,  as 
we  have  probably  mentioned,  in  Muscovy  some 
years  before,  and  consequently  being  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  ruler  and  the  court  of  the 
country.  On  the  former  occasion  the  baron's 
nephew  had  visited  Russia  rather  as  a  traveller 
in  search  of  adventures  than  in  any  diplomatic 
mission.  He  had  been  commissioned  by  the 
King  of  Rome,  Maximilian,  to  learn  what  kind 
of  country  was  that  eastern  land,  about  which 
reports  began  to  reach  even  to  the  house  and 
court  of  the  Csesars,  and  t-be  affairs  of  which 
were  beginning  gradually  to  connect  themselves 
with  the  politics  of  Europe.  As  he  had  arrived 
in  Muscovy  without  a  suite,  the  Russians  would 
not  believe  that  he  was  an  ambassador  from  the 
Roman  sovereign  ;  he  had,  however,  been  ena- 
bled to  boast  of  having  received  favours  from 
the  Great  Prince,  whose  delight  it  was  to  see 


80 


THE    HERETIC. 


foreigners  arrive  at  his  newly-created  court,  to 
admire  his  power,  and  to  carry  back  accounts 
of  that  power  to  their  own  country.  This  time 
tiie  knight  Poppel  came  to  Moscow  as  an  actu- 
al ambassador  from  the  Emperor,  with  presents 
and  full  credentials. 

Though  not  informed  by  his  uncle  of  the  fam- 
ily secret  involvmgthe  birth  of  Antony,  he  was, 
however,  empowered  by  the  baron  to  discover 
"ivhat  sort  of  a  pretender  to  the  name  of  Ehren- 
stein  was  to  be  found  in  the  court  of  Ivan  ;  and 
to  endeavour  by  every  means  in  his  power, 
without  injuring  him,  to  impress  upon  the  Rus- 
sian sovereign  that  the  leech  Antony  was  of 
low  ex  Taction,  and  had  adopted,  without  pos- 
sessing any  right  to  it,  the  noble  name  so  illus- 
trious in  Germany.  If  Antony  had  happened, 
unintentionally,  to  bear  the  name  of  Ehrenstein, 
and  was  content  to  bear  it  quietly,  without 
boasting  of  his  family,  and  its  distinction  in  the 
empire,  or  preferring  any  claim  to  baronial  rank, 
then  Poppel  was  instructed  to  leave  him  in 
tranquillity.  Who  was  more  likely  to  execute 
this  commission  with  rigorous  punctuality  than 
the  person  who  had  been  selected  to  inherit  the 
haughty  baron's  name  and  rank?  Assuredly 
the  knight  Poppel,  armed  with  such  powers, 
and  such  splendid  hopes,  would  be  likely  not  to 
show  any  want  of  energy  in  defending  his 
Tights ;  it  was  only  to  be  feared  that  he,  from 
the  lightness  of  his  character,  might  overstep 
the  authority  entrusted  to  him — an  authority, 
on  this  occasion,  sufficiently  limited.  He  reach- 
ed Moscow  two  days  before  the  trial  of  the 
•enormous  cannon. 

On  the  day  of  his  arrival,  Antony  received  a 
•Tisit  from  the  deacon  Koun'tzin.  Every  inter- 
view with  this  wise  and  science-loving  deacon 
began  with  the  communication  of  some  favour 
or  gracious  message  from  the  prince,  with  an 
oPCl't  of  his  services,  or  a  warning  against  some 
<langer.  All  this  he  said  and  did  as  in  the  name 
of  some  mysterious  personage,  who  had  row- 
•maniled  him  to  be  Antony's  protector,  and  to 
vatch  over  his  welfare.  Commanded  ?  Who 
eould  this  he  but  the  Great  Prince!  It  was 
not  he,  however.  Even  had  Koun'tzin  brought 
to  these  interviews  a  heart  full  of  friendly  inter- 
est, his  conversation,  overflowing  with  the  love 
of  science,  would  always  have  rendered  him  a 
•welcome  guest  to  Antony ;  in  this  manner  the 
solitude  of  Ehrenstein  was  becoming  gradually 
more  and  more  i)eopled  with  love,  kindness, 
and  friendship.  The  only  thing  which  gave 
liim  pain  was  the  stern  and  obstinate  estrange- 
ment of  Obrazclz  himself 

The  deacon,  having  informed  him  of  Poppel's 
•arrival,  added  that  he  was  charged  by  command 
•of  his  secret  master,  whom  he  always  called  his 
j)receptor  also  to  place  Antony  from  that  time 
forward,  more  particularly  upon  his  guard.  At 
•the  monuMit  of  communicating  this  warning  he 
'yave  him  a  letter.  'Twas  written  in  the  well- 
Tinown  hand  of  the  iMtiravian  brother.  Hea- 
vens !  'twas  a  letter  from  his  mother,  'i'he 
missive  was  kissed  a  thousand  times  before  An- 
tony's trembling  hands  could  break  the  seal.  It 
informed  her  much-loved  son  how  she  rejoiced 
in  his  welfare ;  hinting,  also,  that  in  conse- 
<iuence  of  certain  circumstances,  involving  a 
f.imily  secret,  his  mother  desired  that  Antony 
■lioukl  remain  in  Muscovy,  \^ hither  she  intend- 


ed to  follow  him  as  soon  as  he  had  obtained  a 
permanent  settlement  in  that  country.  Tlte 
baroness  cautioned  him  to  be  on  his  guard  with 
the  imperial  ambassador,  the  knight  Poppel — 
"This  man  is  perilous  to  thee,"  added  the  ten- 
der mother;  "  he  hath  been  adopted  by  the  Ba- 
ron Ehrenstein,  a  relation  of  ours,  who  is  fa- 
voured by  the  Emperor,  proud,  out  of  mea- 
sure ambitious,  and  who  would  count  himself 
and  all  his  house  disgraced,  if  he  should  hear 
that  his  namesake  is  a  leech." 

What  tender  love  breathed,  like  a  perfume, 
through  this  letter  !  An^tony  read  and  re-read 
many  times  each  expression,  which  only  a  wo- 
man, a  mother,  or  some  creature  equally  loving, 
could  have  linked  together  into  such  simple  and 
powerful  eloquence.  These  expressions  had 
not  been  hunted  for  in  the  intellect  or  the  imag- 
ination ;  they  fell  direct  from  the  heart  to  the 
pen.  Even  so  are  pre(;ious  pearls  shaken  from 
their  cradle  by  the  slightest  touch  ;  while  the 
poor,  unripe,  and  worthless  ones  can  only  be 
obtained  by  forcing  open  with  violence  the 
close-shut  lips  of  the  shell.  A  man  who  loves 
says  almost  the  same  thing,  but  not  quite  the 
same  ;  perhaps  more  sensibly,  but  never  with 
such  an  insinuating  sweetness.  Antony's  mo- 
ther begged  him  to  remain  in  Russia;  she 
herself  desired  to  join  him  :  and  why  not  T 
thought  the  young  man,  inflamed  by  the  dream 
which  his  heart  approved.  Is  not  her  will  the 
will  of  fate  ]  The  sovereign  of  Russia  held  him 
in  high  honour;  Ivan  the  Young,  the  heir  and 
hope  of  Russia — good,  brave,  and  generous — 
was  singularly  well  disposed  towards  him. 
The  Russians,  at  least  many  of  them,  were 
ceasing  to  cherish  ill-will  towards  him,  and  with 
time  would  love  him  ;  already  he  had  made 
friends  even  among  them.  He  might  always 
visit  his  preceptor  when  he  pleased.  There 
was  also  one  being  which  became,  day  by  day, 
more  dear  to  him,  which  flitted  round  him  in 
his  dreams,  nestled  in  his  bosom,  and  implored 
him  so  tenderly  not  to  depart.  You  will  guess 
that  this  was  Anastasia  ;  for  her  sake  he  would 
have  exchanged  his  fatherland — the  wondrous 
sky  of  Italy— its  earth,  that  luxurious  flower- 
sprent  cradle,  where  the  zephyr,  nourished  on 
perfume  and  soilness,  hushes  the  favoured  child 
of  nature  with  the  harmony  of  Tasso's  song ; 
for  her  he  would  exchange  the  Coloseum,  the 
Madonna,  the  Academia,  all,  all,  for  the  grey 
heaven  of  the  North — for  the  deep  snow,  the 
wild  fir-trees,  and  the  barken  huls,  with  all  the 
ignorance  that  dwelt  beneath  their  roofs.  What 
then  !  His  mother  would  bring  with  her  his 
country;  the  wondrous  heaven  of  Italy  he 
would  find  in  Ana^tasia's  eyes,  the  burning 
noon  on  her  lips,  all  delights,  all  possible  joys, 
in  her  love.  Kulhis  creed  was  not  the  same  as 
hers ;  therefore  it  was  that  they  had  given  him 
the  name  of  Heretic — equivalent  in  the  eyes  of 
Russians  to  that  of  Tartar.  By  simply  adopt- 
ing the  Russiah  faith,  he  might  annihilate  all 
the  barriers,  all  the  obstacdes.  that  so  complete- 
ly divided  him  from  the  family  of  Obrazets.  It 
as  only  on  this  condition  that  Anastasia's 
hand  could  ever  be  his  ;  hut  then  he  would  be 
a  traitor,  and  from  interest.  Never  would  he 
consent  to  that  !  "  No,  it  is  not  my  lot  to  pos- 
sess this  treasure,"  he  said  to  hiinself  ;  and  all 
the  while  sweet  Haltering  thoughts  sprang  up 


THE    HERETIC. 


81 


in  the  ardent  dreamer's  head  and  heart,  and 
gave  hiin  some  inexplicable  hope.  The  very 
obstacles,  the  very  strangeness  of  the  German's 
iove  for  a  ilussiaii  maiden,  gave  additional  fer- 
vour to  that  love. 

'•  Be  cautious  with  Poppel,  I  entreat  thee,  my 
dearest  son  1"  These  words  seemed  to  cast  a 
dark  gloom  over  his  mother's  letter,  and  over 
his  own  heart :  'twas  strange  !  Koun'tzen,  too, 
had  warned  him  against  the  same  person. 

"  Was  it  my  fault,"  said  Antony  to  the  dea- 
con, in  a  familiar  conversation  with  him,  "  that 
I  was  born  an  Ehrenstein,  and  that  fate  brought 
into  the  world  a  haughty  baron,  a  namesake  ? 
God  be  with  him  !  I  would  not  force  myseli 
into  his  family,  and  I  am  willing  to  forget  him 
as  wholly  as  if  I  had  never  even  heard  his 
name.  The  baron  is  childless,  and  hath  adopt- 
ed Poppel ;  can  these  worshipful  knights  fear 
that  I  should  put  forth  claims  to  their  inherit- 
ance !  0,  they  may  be  quite  easy  on  that  score  ! 
I  am  proud  enough  to  spurn  all  honours  and 
riches,  even  though  the  law  adjudged  them  to 
me,  without  my  humiliating  myself,  without  my 
suing,  or  making  myself  unworthy  of  honours 
or  wealth.  My  name  is  my  lawful  possession  ; 
I  will  not  change  it  to  pleasure  any  haughty  ba- 
ron on  the  face  of  the  earth.  It  is  an  honour 
to  me,  not  because  it  is  borne  by  a  baron  of  the 
empire,  but  because  I  bear  it.  My  profession 
hath  not  disgraced  it,  and  I  know  how  to  make 
it  respected,  if  any  dares  to  cast  a  stain  upon 
it.  I  will  never  be  the  first  to  insult  any  man 
— my  mother  and  those  who  desire  my  happi- 
ness, may  be  assured  of  that ;  but  I  will  never 
submit  to  the  insult  of  another.  Both  nature 
and  education  have  taught  me  how  to  wash  out 
in  blood  any  blot  upon  my  honour.  Well  are 
such  styled  offences  of  blood.  I  will  be  cau- 
tious of  Poppel ;  such  is  the  will  of  my  mother. 
The  further  I  can  keep  from  him  the  better ; — 
but  if  the  haughty  lordling  attacks  me — let  him 
beware  !" 

The  knight  Poppel  was  received  on  this  oc- 
casion with  extraordinary  honour  as  the  impe- 
rial ambassador.  Officers  met  him  at  some 
distance  from  Moscow,  to  congratulate  him  on 
his  safe  arrival.  A  deputation  had  been  select- 
ed for  this  purpose,  consisting  of  the  dvoretzkoi, 
the  deacon  Kouri'tzin,  and  some  bayarins.  This 
train  was  attended  by  the  inevitable  Bartholo- 
mew, whose  duty  it  was  to  translate  word  for 
word  whatever  the  ambassador  might  say.  They 
■were  all  splendidly  attired  in  their  glittering  dress 
of  ceremony;  the  sun  seemed  to  joy  in  being 
reflected  from  their  robes.  The  procession  at- 
tended the  envoy  to  the  lodging  prepared  for 
him.  The  deportment  and  language  of  the 
boyarins  expressed  profound  respect  ;  and  their 
quiet  simplicity  and  ceremonial  etiquette  only 
swelled  the  knight's  vanity,  and  blinded  the 
little  penetration  he  possessed.  He  prepared  to 
lead  these  simpletons  astray;  the  cunningest 
of  all,  at  least  in  his  own  estimation  was  Bar- 
tholomew. In  the  meantime  the  "clowns,"  as 
the  ambassador  called  them  behind  their  back, 
had  already  penetrated  his  character,  and  put 
themselves  in  condition  to  give  an  accurate  ac- 
count of  his  moral  and  intellectual  qualities. 

The  ambassador,  intoxicated  by  his  own 
grandeur,  swelled  and  strutted,  talking  in  a 
manner  equally  thoughtless  and  ill-bred.  He 
F 


often  twisted  his  mustache,  played  with  the 
golden  fringe  of  his  mantle,  smoothed  with  a 
look  of  vanity  the  velvet  of  his  dress,  jingled  his 
spurs  like  a  boy,  among  his  late  comrades  and 
playfellows,  when  he  has  just  put  on  for  the 
tiist  time  the  uniform  of  an  officer. 

"  What,  when  I  came  to  your  country  before, 
air  sirs,  ye  would  not  believe  that  I  was  the 
Emperor's  ambassador!  He  hath,"  said  ye, 
"  but  few  servants  ;  he  giveth  no  largess  of  du- 
cats or  velvet.  Now,  look  ye  !"  (he  pointed  to 
the  crowd  of  court  attendants,  who  stood  at  a 
respectful  distance  behind  him,  all  gallantly  at- 
tired.) 

"  We  see,  Lord  Baron  Poppel,"  replied  the 
dvoretzkoi ;  "  we  beseech  thee,  hold  us  not  in 
fault  for  our  former  unbelief  We  be  but  sim- 
ple, foolish  folk  :  we  live  out  of  the  world ;  we 
know  not  the  usages  beyond  sea." 

"  Would  ye  have  ducats — right  noble  ducats  1 
I  can  dress  all  your  officers  in  Venetian  velvet." 

The  deputation  bowed  profoundly  to  the  gold- 
en calf 

"  Would  ye  letters— a  '  sheet,'  as  ye  call  it — 
from  my  great  Emperor,  lord  of  half  the  world  T 
Here,"  (he  pointed  to  a  silver  coffer  which  was 
standing  on  the  table,)  "  I  bring  letters  to  your 
illustrious  Prince.  Ye  paid  me  but  scant  hon- 
our before,  but  your  lord  sees  far  ;  he  hath  eyes 
of  reason.  He  speedily  understood  the  knight 
Poppel;  and,  therefore,  my  sovereign  offereth 
to  confer  on  the  Great  Prince,  his  dear  friend, 
the  dignity  of  king." 

"Our  lord,  the  Great  Prince  of  All  Russia, 
Ivan  Vassilievitch,"  answered  Kouritzin,  firmly, 
and  drawing  himself  up,  "  desireih  the  friend- 
ship of  the  Cajsar,  but  not  his  favour ;  an  equal 
cannot  confer  on  an  equal.  I  speak  not  willing- 
ly ;  but  if  any  thing  is  confided  to  your  highness 
by  the  Emperor,  it  is  not  for  us  to  hear  his  il- 
lustrious words — it  is  for  our  lord,  the  Great 
Prince  of  All  Russia,  to  answer,  not  for  us." 

Poppel  blushed  slightly,  and  endeavoured  to 
conceal  his  confusion  under  the  tinkle  of  his 
spurs.  The  deacon's  words,  however,  had  stop- 
ped his  mouth  for  a  time,  and  rendered  him 
grave  ;  and  not  without  reason.  He  had  as- 
sured Frederick  that  Ivan,  though  a  powerful 
and  wealthy  prince,  would  hold  it  a  signal  fa- 
vour if  the  Emperor  were  to  confer  on  him  the 
title  of  king:  but  the  thing  was  done;  he  bore 
a  proposition  on  the  subject  to  the  Great  Prince, 
and  still  confidently  hoped  that  he  could  fasci- 
nate his  ambitions  heart  with  the  splendour  of 
royalty.  When  Popple's  confusion  had  passed, 
he  expressed  a  desire,  on  the  part  of  his  mas- 
ter, to  receive  as  a  present  from  Ivan  Vassilie- 
vitch some  living  elks,  and  at  the  same  time 
one  of  the  nation  called  the  Bogouliats,*  who 
eat  raw  flesh  ;  and  he  added,  that  the  Emperor 
was  displeased  that  he  had  not  brought  with 
him,  on  his  return  from  his  former  visit  to  Rus- 
sia, specimens  of  these  animals  and  men.  Then, 
haughtily  raising  his  head,  he  inquired  of  the 
dvoretzkoi  whether  Antony  the  leech  had  been 
long  in  Muscovy. 

"  Since  the  feast  of  St.  Hierasimus  of  the 
Crows,"  replied  the  dvoretzkoi. 

"  And  doth  the  most  mighty  and  most  illustri- 
ous Ivan  admit  a  vagabond  into  his  presence  !" 


*  Bogoulitches,  inhabitants  of  what  is  now  the  province 
of  Berczoff,  in  the  government  of  Tol>6l3k.— JV<>t«  of  Vie 
Author. 


82 


THE    HERETIC. 


"  Our  lord,  the  Great  Prince  of  All  Russia, 
holdelh  the  leech  Antony  in  high  honour,  and 
ofttimes  permitteth  him  to  behold  his  royal 
eyes,  and  by  them  even  the  rabble  is  enlighten- 
ed." 

"  'Tis  pity — great  pity  !  'Tis  a  mere  Jew  vil- 
lain and  cheat.  I  knew  him  at  Nuremberg  ;  he 
began  there  by  doctoring  horses,  then  allied  him- 
self to  the  Evil  One,  and  grew  addicted  to  ne- 
cromancy." 

The  interpreter  smiled,  and,  turning  to  the 
boyarins,  made  a  sign  with  his  hand,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  You  see  !     I  told  you  so  !" 

"  Then,"  continued  Poppel,  "  he  began  to  try 
his  leech-craft  on  men  ;  and  sent  them  into  the 
next  world  by  dozens  at  a  time.  They  would 
have  hanged  him  ;  but  he  managed  to  hide  him- 
self somehow,  and  to  fly  to  your  country." 

The  boyarins  gazed  with  horror  at  each  other  : 
the  deacon  Kouritzin  alone  did  not  exhibit  on 
his  countenance  the  slightest  sign  of  astonish- 
ment or  fear.  It  was  not  worth  his  while  to 
spend  his  words  in  a  dispute  with  the  knight :  a 
man  will  not  enter  into  an  argument  with  a  boy. 
Bartholomew  made  a  dot-and-go-one  movement 
■with  his  leg,  and  then,  transforming  his  attitude 
into  a  figure  of  a  note  of  interrogation,  exclaim- 
ed— "  A  Jew  rascal  ....  he  must  undoubted- 
ly be  so,  most  illustrious  ambassador !  I  saw 
it  at  once  the  moment  I  looked  upon  him,  and 
said  so  to  all  I  met.  An  accursed  Jew  !  Ay, 
ay  !  indubitably.  And  he  speaketh  through  the 
nose  with  the  true  whine  of  Israel,  and  is  as 
arrant  a  coward  as  we  usually  find  among  the 
Hebrew  pack.  Sometimes  he  is  as  proud  as  if 
he  were  fain  to  spit  in  the  face  of  Heaven  ;  then, 
again,  you  have  but  to  speak  a  little  sharply  to 
him,  and  anon  he  will  tremble  you  an'  'twere  an 
aspen  leaf" 

"  I  am  well  content  that  here,  at  least,  you 
have  penetrated  him,  worshipful  Master  Inter- 
preter." 

"Now,  many  of  us  count  him  a  trumpery 
quacksalver  :  I  have  proclaimed  him  to  all  Mos- 
cow. Without  boasting,  I  may  be  bold  to  say, 
most  illustrious  ambassador,  I  have  but  to  hint 
a  thing,  and  at  all  ends  of  the  city  they  cry — 
'  That  must  be  so ;  the  court  interpreter  hath 
said  it !'  O,  Russia  knoweth  me,  and  I  know 
Russia  I" 

"  I  shall  entreat  thee  to  be  useful  to  me  too, 
in  repeating  my  words  !" 

"  I  will  not  fail— I  will  not  fail '  I  will  soon 
spread  new  tidings  about  him  on  the  wings  of 
zeal,"  (dot-and-go-one  again  of  the  lame  leg;) 
"  and  I  will  do  it  out  of  love  for  pure  truth," 
(another  hop.)  "  How  we  shall  bless  you  here, 
most  noble  of  noblest  knights,  if  you  can  prevail 
on  our  lord  to  kick  the  Jew  quacksalver  out  of 
the  bounds  of  Muscovy  I" 

"That  is  easily  done.      1   will  open  Ivan's 
eyes  :  I  will  ofTer  him  another  leech.     I  have  in 
my  rye  a  man  rwt  like  that  mountebank  :  name- 
ly, Maslt-r  Leon,  the  Emperor's  court  physician 
—such  a  jolly  knave,  such  a  jester  I     And  aj 
wonderful  master  of  his  mystery.     For  exam- 
ple, once  the  Emperor  wished  to  try  how  far 
his  skill  could  go  :  he  ordered  them  to  have  him  j 
baited  with  dogs      Tlie  dogs  rent  him  to  tatters,  ; 
but  all  of  ihem  died,  and  he  ?— he  died  too,  think  I 
ye!  or  at  least  was  laid  up'     No,  he  healed  all  [ 
ibo  wounds,  and  the  next  day  appeared  laughing  ■ 
at  court,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.'* 


"  Wonderful !"  cried  the  interpreter,  and  has- 
tened to  communicate  to  the  deputation  this 
triumph  of  medical  skill. 

The  boyarins  crossed  themselves  with  signs 
of  fear  and  astonishment.  Kouritzin  alo'ne, 
with  an  expression  of  incredulity,  shook  his 
head. 

"  And  how  call  you  this  fellow  here  .... 
this  ....  Jew  ?" 

"  Antony  the  leech,"  replied  the  dvoretzkoi. 

"He  hath,  I  suppose,  some  surname?" 

"  I  think  Hershtan,  my  lord." 

"That  is,  Ehrenstein,"  added  the  translator. 

"Ehrenstein!  And  doth  the  villain  know 
whose  mantle  he  haih  put  on  ?  ...  .  In  the 
whole  empire,  methinks  in  the  whole  world, 
there  is  but  one  Baron  Ehrenstein :  he  is  near 
the  person  of  my  Emperor,  Frederick  the  Third  : 
he  is  lord  of  broad  lands,  and  richer  than  many 
provincial  princes  of  Russia.  He  hath  no  chil- 
dren ;  and  I,  the  knight  Poppel,  simple  as  I 
stand  here,  have  been  accounted  by  him  and  the 
Emperor  worthy  to  be  inheritor  of  the  illustri- 
ous name  and  rank  of  Baron  Ehrenstein." 

"  The  Almighty  knoweth  whom  he  honoureth 
with  such  high  favours,"  said  the  interpreter. 

"  We  will  teach  this  base  pretender — we  will 
finish  his  schooling,"  interrupted  Poppel.  grow- 
ing more  heated,  and  with  a  sneer.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  deputation,  and  said,  bowing  court- 
eously— "  For  the  present,  permit  me  to  bid  ye 
farewell,  fair  and  worthy  sirs  ;  and  to  entreat 
you  to  convey  to  the  high,  mighty,  and  thrice 
illustrious  Lord  of  All  Russia,  rny  gratitude  for 
the  signal  honour  he  hath  shown  me  in  sending 
ye  to  greet  me  ;  I  feel,  to  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,  the  weight  of  this  honour,  and  shall  en- 
deavour worthily  to  deserve  it." 

The  boyarins  respectfully  took  their  leave ; 
there,  however  remained  with  the  envoy,  as 
was  customary,  two  officers.  This  was  intend- 
ed to  be  a  mark  of  honour,  and.  at  the  same 
time,  to  keep  a  watch  upon  his  movements. 
Poppel  made  a  sign  to  the  interpreter,  request- 
ing him  to  remain. 

"  Go,  good  fellow,  to  the  leech  Antony,"  he 
said  to  Bartholomew,  "  and  tell  him  that  I,  am- 
bassador of  the  Roman  Emperor,  command 
him,  a  subject  of  the  Emperor,  to  repair  instant- 
ly to  my  presence." 

"  Is  it  to  cure  any  of  your  servants  1  God 
forbid  !  Once  a  baron  here,  an  old  man,  took 
it  into  his  head  to  consult  him.  In  a  moment 
the  leech  sent  him  into  the  other  world  ;  and  a 
boy,  too,  of  the  baron's,  a  servant — whom  ho 
loved  as  a  son — only  touched  the  lips  of  the 
dead,  to  give  him  the  last  Christian  kiss* — he, 
too,  gave  up  the  ghost,  so  strong  was  the  poison 
that  Antony  had  given  to  the  dead." 

"O,  disquiet  not  thyself!  I  would  not  trust 
him  with  a  cat  of  mine.     Only  do  my  bidding." 

Almost  out  of  his  wits  with  delight— like  a 
man  possessed  of  the  demon  of  vanity,  Bartho- 
lomew presented  himself  before  tlie  leech  Anto- 
ny. Tone,  attitude,  gesture,  expression —all 
marked  a  sense  of  importance,  beyond  any  thing 
that  had  been  seen  or  heard  of  in  him  before. 
This  unusual  ecstasy  did  not  escape  Ehrenstein  : 

*  M  a  Iliis.sian  funcrnl,  just  bcfori?  the  corpse  U  cnrrieii 
to  the  grave,  the  fnce  of  tlie  denti  is  uncovered,  and  nil 
prc'onl  approach  to  kiss  the  forehead,  Uicrein  oflering 
"the  last  Christian  salutation."- T.  B.  S. 


THE    HERETIC 


he  measured  him  from  head  to  foot,  looked  him 
all  over,  and  could  not  refrain  from  laughter. 

The  interpreter  began  to  unfold  his  mission, 
puffing  for  breath,  but  still  preserving  his  tre- 
mendous majesty  : — "  The  ambassador  of  the 
most  high  and  mighty  Emperor  Frederick  the 
Third,  tiie  thrice  noble  knight  Poppel,  by  addi- 
tion Baron  Ehrenstein,  (here  he  looked  ironical- 
ly at  Antony,)  commandeth  thee,  the  leech  An- 
tony, to  appear  before  him  without  delay." 

"  Commandeth  !  ....  me  !  ...  .  without  de- 
lay ?  ...  .  said  Antony,  continuing  to  laugh  with 
all  his  soul — '-Thou  hast  mistaken,  methinks, 
Signor  Great  Ambassador  of  ambassadors." 

"  I  tell  thee  what  I  heard  with  mine  own 
ears." 

"  Ay,  they  are  long  enough  ....  Are  any  of 
his  train  sick!" 

"No." 

"  And  if  I  go  not,  what — will  my  head  be  firm 
on  my  shoulders 


Beware ! 


I  will  not  answer  for  it 
the  leech  !" 

"  Then  go  thou,  most  illustrious  interpreter, 
and  tell  this  most  illustrious  ambassador,  and 
knight,  and  baron,  that  he  is  a  churl ;  and  that, 
if  he  would  see  me,  let  him  appear  before  me, 
Antony  the  leech,  by  addition,  Ehrenstein — 
plain  Ehrenstein,  without  the  '  Baron  ;'  and,  at 
the  same  time,  tell  that  fool,  formerly  printer, 
Bartholomew,  that  if  he  dareth  to  show  his  face 
to  me,  I  will  cut  off  his  long  ears."  (Here,  with 
a  vigorous  hand,  he  compelled  the  interpreter  to 
make  a  most  scientific  pirouette,  opened  the 
door,  and  hurled  the  contemptible  being  out  of 
it  so  violently,  that  his  feet  clattered  down  the 
stairs  as  if  they  were  counting  the  steps.) 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


yoke ;  a  high  mound  of  earth  ran  along  it  by  the 
ford  of  Zaneglinnaia,  and  there  quitting  it, 
served  as  a  boundary  to  this  ward  and  its  pool, 
finally  ending  at  the  river  Moskva.  The  ima- 
gination would  but  confuse  itself  in  tracing  the 
other  boundaries  of  the  Koutchkoff  field,  which 
was  year  by  year  intersected  by  fresh  lines  of 
street,  erected  by  the  increasing  population  of 
Moscow.  The  topography  of  those  days  is  so 
complicated  and  so  obscure,  that  the  patience  of 
a  Balbi  would  find  it  an  insuperable  stumblins- 
block. 

The  appearance  of  the  Koutchkoff  field  was 
highly  diversified  :  smiling  pastures,  rich  har- 
vests and  groves,  and  steaming  swamps.  There, 
between  the  streets,  fed  flocks  and  herds,  or 
moved  long  ranks  of  mowers,  or  gleamed  the 
reapers  through  the  waving  corn  ;  there  cried 
the  land-rail  and  the  corn-crake  ;  the  nightin- 
gale poured  forth  his  burning  song,  or  the  groan 
I  of  the  murdered  traveller  died  away  unheard. 


Antony  |  On  the  day  on  which  we  are  about  to  visit  the 
Koutchkoff  field  —  a  day  bright  and  cheery, 
lighted  up  with  gay  sunbeams — along  the  mead- 
ow extending  from  the  Purification  Church  to 
the  marsh  (where  now  are  the  Clear  Pools)  the 
people  were  scattered  in  numerous  and  motley 
crowds,  apparently  awaiting  some  spectacle  with 
joyful  impatience.  The  Great  Prince  himself, 
with  his  son  and  a  train  of  courtiers  (among 
whom  Andriousha  had  succeeded  in  being,)  was 
sitting  on  horseback  under  the  grove  which  sha- 
ded the  walls  of  the  monastery,  and  seemed  to 
share  the  impatience  of  the  crowd.  Within 
sight  of  them,  close  to  the  marsh,  had  been  con- 
structed a  wooden  hamlet,  at  which  they  were 
about  to  fire  the  immense  cannon  recently  cast 
by  Aristotle.*  Several  foolhardy  young  men, 
reckless  by  daring  or  by  fatalism,  had  concealed 
themselves  at  daybreak  in  this  wooden  fort,  and 
there  lay  perdue,  fearing  only  that  the  consta- 
bles should  drive  them  from  their  hiding-place— 
i.  e.  that  they  shgiild  save  them  from  danger  of 
death.  In  the  thicket,  too,  was  stationed  the 
knight  Poppel  on  foot,  concealing  himself  be- 
hind the  officers  and  Bartholomew  from  the 
sight  of  the  Great  Prince,  to  whom  he  had  not 
yet  been  presented.  He  enquired  of  the  inter- 
preter wliether  he  could  see  the  leech  Antony, 
who  had  succeeded  in  offending  him  so  bitterly 
by  his  disobedience.  What  were  his  feeUngs, 
when  the  interpreter  pointed  out  to  him  a  tall 
handsome  German,  in  a  velvet  mantle,  grace- 
fully managing  a  fiery  steed  !  The  Great 
Prince  was  seen  frequently  to  turn  to  his  leech, 
and  appeared  to  be  conversing  with  him  most 
graciously.  Bitterly  was  Poppel  undeceived  !  he 
had  previously  made  an  imaginary  portrait  of  An- 
tony, whom  he  had  pictured  to  himself  as  a  lit- 
tle sickly  dwarfish  individual,  with  a  red  beard. 
His  face  grew  livid  with  rage ;  hate  and  envy 
sparkled  in  his  eyes  :  he  bit  his  lip :  he  thought 
he  beheld  in  the  person  of  the  young  German 
his  rival  as  well  in  the  favour  of  the  Russian 
sovereign  as  in  the  pursuit  of  his  family  rights. 
The  leech  threw  him  completely  into  the  shade 
by  his  manly  vigorous  form,  and  his  graceful  de- 
portment :  his  dress,  too,  was  not  less  rich  than 


"  Aye  keep  well  this  talisman  : 
'Tis  Love's  gift,  and  it  will  aid  thee 
More  than  magic  ever  can  !'  — P6uskin. 

Moscow,  which  at  the  period  of  our  story 
spread  over  numerous  suburbs,  wards,  and  out- 
skirts, enclosed  between  them  groves,  fields,  and 
meadows.  The  most  extensive  of  these  fields 
■were  those  of  Vorontzoffand  Koutchkoff;  in  the 
first  of  whicli  was  situated  a  palace  and  gardens 
of  the  Great  Princes  of  Muscovy — a  favourite 
summer  residence  of  the  sovereigns.  Here 
they  enjoyed  the  sport  of  hawking  :  from  hence 
they  went  to  chase  wild  beasts  in  the  deep  for- 
ests which  covered  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Ya- 
ouza ;  from  hence  they  could  revel  in  the  dis- 
tant view  of  their  Kreml — the  quarter  beyond 
the  Moskva,  the  Danileffskii  monastery,  and  the 
suburbs  on  ihe  further  side  of  the  Yaouza.  In 
front,  straight  across  the  stream,  whose  rapid 
current  was  interrupted  by  numerous  mills,  the 
Great  Prince's  palace  gazed  face  to  face  on  the 
holy  walls  of  the  Andronieffskii  convent.  The 
Vassilicff field,  (where  now  is  situated  the  Found- 
ling Hospital,)  for  the  most  part  marshy  ground, 
lay  between  the  Great  Street  and  the    Varskaia 

Street,  which  was  higher  up.     The  Koutchkoff,  that  of  the  imperial  ambassador,  and  was  even 
field  began  at  the  Church  of  the  Purification,  i  in  belter  taste.     The  spurs  alone  were  wanting 

the  name  of  which  awakens  such  numberless      *  t,v,         ~  ~ 

recollections  of  our  liberation  from  the  Tartar  |  c..nJf-ra:VarbTDeb~-^Y^^^^^^^^ 


84 


THE    HERETIC. 


(Poppel  remarked  even  this  !)....  to  make 
him  equal  lo  the  ilhistrious  knight ;  hut  even 
the  spurs  might  be  granted  him  by  the  Great 
Prince.  From  this  moment  he  vowed  to  hum- 
ble Antony,  to  trample  him  in  the  dust,  to  anni- 
hilate him  :  this  was  the  internal  vow  made  by 
the  noblest  of  noble  knights  !  .  .  .  .  Poor  An- 
tony !  and  was  it  thy  fault  that  thou  wert  born 
so  well-looking  T 

"  It  comes  !  it  comes  !"  shouted  the  people  ; 
and  immediately  after  these  exclamatiens,  in  the 
direction  of  the  forest,  which  blackened  both 
banks  of  the  rivulet  named  the  Neglinnaia, 
streamed  a  manycolf)ured  throng,  over  whose 
heads  gaped  a  huge  brazen  gullet.  This  was  a  can- 
non of  extraordinary  size  and  calibre  ;  it  seem- 
ed to  be  reclining,  as  it  were,  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  people  who  were  dragging  it  along,  and  it 
wallowed  heavily  from  side  to  side,  as  though 
delighting  in  its  triumph.  Joyful  shouts  accom- 
panied and  received  it ;  behind  it  came  Aristo- 
tle, on  horseback.  Those  of  the  people  who 
were  nearest  extolled  liis  might,  his  skill — even 
kissed  his  feet.  "  Ey,  what  a  mother  of  can- 
nons thou  hast  made!"  they  said,  in  ecstasy, 
struck  with  the  idea  of  power  embodied  in  the 
engine  he  had  constructed.  Try  to  touch  the 
mob  as  powerfully  with  the  idea  of  the  Beau- 
tiful ! 

When  the  cannon  arrived  at  the  destined 
spot,  Aristotle  commanded  the  German  artille- 
ryman (tlirs  duty  was  usually  performed  by  Ger- 
mans) to  lower  it  from  its  truck  :  then  levelling 
it  at  the  wooden  fortress,  he  fixed  it  on  the  car- 
riage, and  ordered  the  gunner  to  load  it  with 
powder,  and  to  put  in  the  ball,  which  was  near- 
ly as  large  as  a  man's  head.  The  people  were 
warned  to  retire  to  a  greater  distance.  The 
match  was  already  burning  in  the  hand  of  Aris- 
totle himself;  he  prepared  to  apply  it  to  the 
touch-hole  and  ....  he  stopped  ;  a  thoughtful 
shade  passed  over  his  face,  his  hand  trembled 
What  if  the  gun  should  bursy  ....  He  feared 
not  for  himself;  no!  hut  for  his  creation — his 
cathedral — which  would  perish  with  him.  He 
raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  crossed  himself,  ap- 
plied the  linstock  to  the  cannon— the  brazen 
throat  belched  forth  a  burst  of  smoky  fire,  a  re- 
port followed  ;  the  neighbourhood  repeated  it  in 
numberless  echoes.  It  seemed  as  though  the 
foundations  of  the  earth  were  shaken  :  a  part  of 
the  people  fell  on  their  faces,  thinking  that  an 
enormous  iron  wheel  had  just  thundered  along 
the  ground.  Again  a  report,  yet  louder;  again 
— and  the  people,  becoming  familiarized  to  the 
sounds,  arose  crossing  themselves,  and  bless- 
ing themselves  from  peril  of  the  bearer  of  the 
thunder.  They  look — the  wooden  fort  wss  al- 
ready in  flames.  Hardly  had  Aristotle  ex[ilain- 
ed  that  he  would  fire  no  more,  when  loud  shouts 
filled  the  air,  and  the  artist  was  lifted  on  high  in 
the  arms  of  the  delighted  crowd.  In  this  tri- 
umphal manner  they  carried  him  to  the  Great 
Prince.  Ivan  Vassilievitch  was  transported 
with  joy  ;  lie  threw  a  golden  chain  around  the 
artist's  neck,  kissed  him  on  the  forehead,  and 
gave  him  the  title  of  gold-bearer.  The  people 
were  in  raptures  at  these  favours  shown  to  a 
man  who  had  cast  a  l)ell  to  call  them  to  prayer, 
cannons  to  conquer  their  enemies,  and  was  pre- 
paring to  build  a  cathedral  to  the  Holy  Virgin. 

Suddenly,  from  among  the  burning  ruins  of 


the  fort,  there  arose  joyful  cries,  the  bree2e 
swept  aside  the  smoky  curtain,  and  there  ap- 
peared, one  after  the  other,  two  heads  :  they 
belonged  to  the  pair  of  daring  hairbrains  who 
had  concealed  themselves  in  the  building. 
Providence  had  preserved  them.  Excepting 
some  trifling  bruises  on  the  limbs,  they  had  suf- 
fered no  injurj-  whatever. 

'•  Well  done,  lads  !  well  done,  gallants  !"  roar- 
ed the  people  to  them. 

And  for  a  praise  like  this,  they  had  wellnigh 
sacrificed  their  lives  !  Such,  from  time  to  lime 
immemorial  has  been  the  Russian. 

The  Great  Prince,  delighted  with  the  suc- 
cessful trial  of  the  cannon,  and  resolving  to 
make  use  of  it  at  the  siege  of  Tver,  bade  fare- 
well to  Aristotle,  and  galloped  ofT  to  the  city, 
followed  by  the  whole  train  of  courtiers,  and 
among  them  Antony.  A  cloud  of  dust  rose  up 
behind  their  horses,  and,  drifting  over  the  thick- 
et, enveloped  the  imperial  ambassador.  The 
mob  had  hardly  observed  him,  and  had  paid  no 
particular  attention  to  him.  One  spectacle,  by 
its  superior  interest,  had  distracted  them  from 
the  other.  Enraged  and  sullen,  Poppel,  slouch- 
ing his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  plunging  his  spurs 
into  his  steed,  wreaked  his  vengeance  on  the 
poor  animal.  Galloping  home,  he  shut  himself 
up  alone  with  his  gloomy  thoughts. 

On  the  other  hand,  Antony  was  all  joy,  all 
triumph.  That  day  the  Great  Prince  had  been 
unusually  gracious  to  him  ;  for  which  there 
were  two  reasons.  He  knew  that  Aristotle,  so 
useful,  so  indispensable  a  servant,  loved  Antony 
like  a  son ;  and  he  endeavoured  on  this  occa- 
sion to  express  his  good-will  towards  the  artist, 
by  showing  favour  to  those  belonging  to  him. 
Ivan  had  also  already  heard  of  the  insolent 
message  of  the  ambassador  to  his  court  physi- 
cian, and  desired,  by  the  kindness  of  his  de- 
meanour towards  the  insulted  person,  to  com- 
pensate for  the  outrage  offered  by  the  haughty 
baron.  As  he  rode  w  ith  Andriousha  to  his  own 
lodging,  Antony  retained  no  recollection  of  the 
affront  which  had  been  offered  to  him  by  the 
German  envoy.  He  was,  however,  less  de- 
lighted by  the  favour  shown  him  by  the  Great 
Prince,  than  by  a  secret  voice  that  seemed  to 
whisper  in  his  heart,  and  prophesy  something 
unusually  agreeable.  This  presentiment  was 
confirmed  by  Andnousha's  mysterious  words, 
promising  him,  as  soon  as  he  reached  home,  to 
make  him  a  present,  so  precious,  so  invaluable, 
that  he  could  not  even  conceive  it  in  his  imagi- 
nation. Aiiastasia  has  some  share  in  this  se- 
cret !  thought  the  young  man,  urging  forward 
his  steed.  When  the  gate  of  his  quarter  was 
opened,  he,  without  waiting  till  they  removed  the 
lofty  horizontal  bar,  boldly  dashed  his  horse 
over  it. 

'•  Speak  quickly,  quick  !  Dear  -\ndri6usha, 
what  is  thy  secret !'"  enquired  Antony,  almost 
before  they  had  entered  his  chamber. 

The  boy  assumed  an  important  air. — "  What 
I  have  tc  tell  thee  is  no  trifle,"  said  he  in  a 
sligtilly  agitated  voice,  and  trembling.  "  They 
say  that  in  this  matter  lieth  the  salvation  of  thy 
soul." 

"  Explain  !  torture  me  not  !" 

"  Here,  in  Moscow,  report  goeth  abroad  that 
thou  art  leagued  with  the  Evil  One.  I  know 
that  this  is  false—a  calumny  of  foolish  and  wick- 


THE    HERETIC. 


85 


ed  people.  Tuou  art  only  of  the  Latin  faith, 
like  my  father,  as  I  myself  was  ;  a  Latin,  but  a 
good  Christian.  It  seemeth,  however,  that  the 
Russian  faith  is,  somehow,  better  than  yours  ; 
otherwise  they  would  not  have  made  me  change 
my  former  religion.  Thou  sayest,  that  thou 
bearest  the  cross  in  thy  heart.  Nastia  and  I 
understand  not  this,  and  we  are  much  afflicted 
at  our  uncertainty.  Wilt  thou  not  set  our 
minds  at  ease?  -  .  .  .  (Andriousha  drew  forth 
the  massive  silver  cross  from  his  bosom,  and 
undid  the  string  from  his  neck.)  "Take  this 
cross,  whereon  is  the  image  of  the  Saviour,  put 
it  on,  and  wear  it.  This  cross  is  Anastasia's — 
her  mother's  dying  gift.  She  hath  taken  it  off 
for  thee — for  the  health  of  thy  soul,  for  thy  sal- 
vation. May  it  protect  thee  in  all  thy  paths,  and 
bring  thee  into  the  Russian  Church  !  Ah  I 
mayest  thou  one  day  meet  there  my  god-mo- 
ther !" 

As  Andriousha  spoke  these  words,  tears 
streamed  over  the  eloquent  missionary's  burn- 
ing cheek ;  nor  could  his  young  friend  repress 
his  feelings.  He  bathed  the  precious  gift  with 
his  tears.  He  covered  it  with  burning  kisses. 
Crossing  himself,  Antony  put  on  the  crucifix. 
"  Behold  !"  he  said,  "  I  put  on  her  cross  with 
joy — with  rapture.  Tell  Anastasia  this  ;  tell 
her,  that  every  day  I  will  pray  before  it — that  it 
shall  never  leave  me,  unless  they  take  it  from 
my  corse  ....  No,  no  !  what  am  I  doing,  what 
am  I  saying,  fool  that  I  am !"  he  added,  recov- 
ering from  his  first  feeling  of  rapture. 

A  dreadful  thought  flashed  on  his  brain.  He 
loved  Anastasia  with  a  pure  yet  ardent  love ; 
with  wliat  definite  aim  he  knew  not  himself; 
but  whither  would  his  acceptance  of  the  cross 
lead  him  1  Would  it  not  betroth  him  to  Anas- 
tasia as  bridegroara  to  bride  ?  To  a  Russian 
maiden  ! — to  one  that  could  never  be  his  until 
he  changed  his  religion  !  To  possess  Anasta- 
tasia,  he  must  become  a  traitor  to  his  faith 
....  Twas  no  light  cross  that  he  was  about  to 
bear.  Could  he  dare  to  refuse  ill  In  what 
light  would  he  appear  to  her  1  As  a  necroman- 
cer, as  a  magician,  as  one  leagued  with  the 
Fiend  ....  Was  he,  then,  to  plunge  blindly  into 
the  fatal  future  !  ....  He  reflected,  too,  that 
Anastasia,  by  relinquishing,  from  love  to  him, 
her  cross,  her  mother's  blessing,  might  repent 
of  her  sacrifice — that  the  thoughts  of  that  sacri- 
fice would  afflict  her.  Meanwhile  he  would 
wear  the  cross,  but  only  for  that  day— to-mor- 
row he  would  restore  it  to  Anastasia.  By  this 
be  would  prove  to  her  that  he  was  not  allied  to 
the  powers  of  evil,  and  that  he  was  a  good 
Christian.  By  giving  back  the  cross  he  would 
tranquillize  her.  Thus  he  would  reconcile  his 
duty  and  conscience  with  his  love. 

"I  will  not  hide  from  thee,"  said  he  to  his 
little  friend,  as  he  prepared  himself  for  this  mo- 
ral triumph,  "that  Anastasia  had  acted  unwa- 
rily in  sending  me  this  priceless  gift  unknown 
to  her  father,  even  though  what  she  hath  done 
arose  only  from  desire  to  help  and  save  her  bro- 
ther's soul ;  and  I  have  perhaps,  unreflectingly, 
said  what  thou  oughtest  not  to  have  heard. 
And  thou  too,  poor  boy !  hast  fallen  into  this 
sad  struggle,  which  was  unfit  for  thee  ....  I 
am  the  cause  of  all.  Forgive  me,  dearest  friend, 
dear  brother  !  .  .  .  .  Thou  knowest  not  the  fatal 
passions  that  tear  the  heart  of  man,  and  cloud 


his  reason,  even  till  God's  noblest  creature  be- 
cometh  like  unto  the  beasts.  Never  mayest 
thou  know  those  passions,  pure  and  noble  crea- 
ture!  Thy  years  are  years  of  Paradise:  woe 
to  him  who  troubleth  them  !  .  .  .  .  See  now,  I 
take  the  cross,  and  I  put  it  on  with  Christian 
joy  and  gratitude  ;  but  to-morrow  I  will  restore 
it.  I  will  never  give  her  cause  to  repent.  The 
blessings  of  a  mother  cannot  choose  but  be  dear 
to  her.  Her  sorrow  would  poison,  for  me,  all 
the  sweetness  of  her  gift  ;  it  will  only  remind 
me  how  grievous  must  he  for  her  the  sacrifice 
that  she  hath  made  at  the  cost  of  her  health,  of 
her  tranquillity  ;  and  for  the  preservation  of 
both  the  one  and  the  other,  I  am  ready  for  any 
sacrifice,  for  any  torture.  Learn  more  surely, 
this  day,  this  moment  if  possible,  whether  she 
doth  not  encounter  such  a  danger.  Look  with 
attention  in  her  countenance  ;  see  whether  thou 
dost  not  mark  the  trace  of  sickness,  the  shadow 
of  grief  Listen  to  her  words,  to  her  voice- 
Conceal  nothing  from  me  !  Tell  her,  in  my 
name,  all  that  thou  hast  seen  or  heard.  Bless 
her  for  her  priceless  gift !  Say,  that  from  this 
day  forth  I  will  cross  myself  with  the  Russian 
cross,  and  pray  with  the  Russian  prayers.  Thou 
wilt  teach  me  the  Russian  prayers,  wilt  thou 
not  1  I  will  begin  and  end  them  with  a  thought 
of  her." 

Antony  spoke  this,  interrupting  his  words, 
now  by  showering  kisses  on  the  dear  missionary, 
then  again  by  drawing  the  cross  from  his  bosom 
and  pressing  it  to  his  lips.  The  boy  saw  his 
friend  for  the  first  time  in  such  an  agony  of 
agitation  ;  his  lips  formed  the  words  convul- 
sively ;  his  eyes  gleamed  with  a  kind  of  ecsta- 
cy  ;  his  cheeks  were  flushed.  Andriousha  was 
terrified  by  the  agitation  which  he  beheld :  he 
already  repented  of  having  deprived  both,  per- 
haps, of  tranquillity  and  health.  Endeavouring, 
as  far  as  he  could,  to  calm  his  friend,  he  pro- 
mised to  do  all  that  he  requested  ;  but  the  dan- 
ger of  witnesses  prevented  him,  that  day  at 
least,  from  speaking  to  Anastasia  on  the  sub- 
ject of  their  grand  secret. 

Antony's  fears  were  prophetic  :  a  storm  had 
already  gathered  over  the  head  of  the  enchanted 
maiden. 

At  midnight  the  old  nurse  had  cautiously 
risen  from  her  bed,  and  looked  how  her  foster- 
child  was  sleeping.  The  poor  girl  was  quite 
feverish  :  her  swan-like  bosom  seemed  to  heave 
laboriously.  The  nurse  was  about  to  throw 
over  the  maiden  a  covering  of  marten  skins  : 
she  looks  with  falcon  eyes — "  Holy  Mother  of 
God  !  her  cross  is  gone  !  Lord,  good  Lord  ! 
what  can  have  become  of  her  cross  1"  The 
old  woman  wellnigh  shrieked.  She  sought 
around  the  chamber  —  'twas  nowhere  to  be 
found  !  Perhaps  the  string  had  broken,  and 
the  cross  was  lying  by  her  side,  under  the  pil- 
low. At  any  rate,  she  must  wait  till  morning. 
The  whole  night  she  never  shut  her  eyes.  In 
the  morning  she  looked  for  the  cross,  in  the 
bed  —  under  the  bed  —  'twas  not  to  be  seen. 
She  then  began  to  observe  whether  its  absence 
was  remarked  by  Anastasia  Vassilievna.  No  ! 
not  a  word  on  the  subject.  Only  in  dressing 
herself,  the  daughter  of  the  boyarin,  with  appa- 
rent confusion,  concealed  her  bosom  from  the 
nurse.  The  latter  ventured  to  speak  about  the 
cross — Anastasia  sobbed ;  and  at  last,  on  the 


THE   HERETIC. 


nurse's  promises,  vows,  and  oaths,  not  to  tell 
her  father,  the  maiden  said  that  she  had  proba- 
bly dropped  the  cross  as  she  was  walking  in  the 
garden — that  she  had  sought  for  it,  but  could 
not  find  it.  To  what  tortures  can  we  compare 
Anastasia's  condition  at  this  moment !  And 
even  the  nurse  felt  no  slight  suffering.  To  tell 
the  boyarin,  would  be  to  confess  herself  in  fault 
for  not  remarking  how  the  cross  was  lost :  not 
to  tell  him,  might  endanger  her  life.  Whether 
to  tell  him  or  not,  the  old  woman  could  not  de- 
cide :  it  finished,  however,  by  her  fearing  to 
afflict  her  mistress,  and  hoping  to  recover  the 
lost  crucifix,  and  concealing  its  loss  from  the 
boyarin,  who  was  severe  and  implacable  on 
such  occasions. 

I  had  almost  forgotten  to  relate,  that  on  the 
same  day  the  knight  Poppel  visited  Aristotle  to 
complain  of  the  insolence  of  the  leech,  who  was 
confided,  as  he  heard,  to  the  protection  of  the 
artist. 

"  He  hath  acted  as  he  ought,"  replied  the 
artist. 

'  What,  a  scoundrel  Jew  dare  to  disobey  the 
Emperor's  ambassador  I"  shouted  the  haughty 
baron. 

'•  'Tis  a  slander  unworthy  a  common  man, 
much  more  an  imperial  dignitary  !  Leave  such 
reports  to  the  printer  Bartholomew.  None  but 
a  fool  would  believe  them." 

"  At  least  he  is  a  quacksalver." 

"  Say  rather,  phy.sician  to  the  court  of  the 
Lord  of  Moscow.  Know  that  the  pupil  of  my 
brother  is  of  a  blood  as  noble  as  thine  own,  and 
hath  equal  rights  to  respect." 

"  I  suppose,  because  he  playeth  the  baron  ! 
What,  Sir  Artist — dost  thou  design  to  make  a 
real  baron  of  him  V 

"  Nothing  would  be  easier.  He  hath  but  to 
claim  what  is  his  of  right." 

"  Verily  !  .  .  .  .  And,  I  suppose,  as  Baron  Eh- 
renstein  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  as  what  he  is." 

"This  is  Moscow  news;  at  least,  we  know 
it  not  at  my  master's  court." 

"  If  it  needs,  they  shall  learn  it  there  also  as 
an  ancient  title  of  blood." 

Poppel  grew  more  and  more  enraged,  and 
snorted  with  fury.  The  artist  spoke  with  cour- 
tesy, sangfroid,  and  calmness. 

"  Dost  thou  know  that  this  right  is  mine — 
that  I  am  ready  to  defend  it  with  my  sword  ? 

"  This  time  the  sword  of  the  knight  will  be 
broken  against  the  law  and  the  word  of  the  Em- 
peror." 

"  In  his  Majesty's  name,  I  demand  from  thee 
an  explanation  of  these  riddles  of  thine." 

"  1  will  give  it  when  I  count  it  needful.  I 
respect  thy  master  equally  with  other  crowned 
heads,  but  I  acknowledge  not  his  sovereignly. 
I  am  a  citizen  of  Venice,  and  am  here  under  the 
powerful  protection  of  the  Russian  sovereign, 
Ivan,  third  of  the  name." 

"  My  sword  shall  force  thee  to  explain  thy- 
self" 

Aristotle  burst  into  a  laugh. 

'  'And  this  instant  ;  if  thou  hast  but  a  spark 
of  honour." 

Poppel  seized  the  hilt  of  his  sword. 

"  Gently,  young  man  I"  said  the  artist  stern- 
ly, laying  iiis  hand  on  the  knight's  shoulder  ; 
"moderate  thy  passion  ;  it  can  in  nowise  heip 


thy  business.  Compel  me  not  to  think  that  the 
arms  of  honour  are,  in  thy  hand,  nothing  but  a 
dangerous  plaything  in  the  hands  of  a  child  ; 
and  that  the  German  Emperor  hath  chosen  to 
represent  his  person  at  the  court  of  Moscow, 
not  by  a  reasonable  man  but  a  hot-brained  boy. 
Think  again.  Sir  Knight  I  Look  on  my  grey 
hairs — at  my  age  I  might  be  thy  father,  and 
dost  thou  challenge  me  to  a  senseless  combat  ! 
What  glory  for  the  mighty  hand  of  youth  to  be 
raised  against  the  feeble  arm  of  an  old  man  1 
'Twould  be  much  to  boast  of  I  ....  And  in 
mine  own  house  !  Would  they  not  call  us  both 
madmen.  Believe  me,  I  will  not  draw  my 
sword.  Thou  niayest  fall  upon  me  unarmed, 
and  exchange  the  name  of  knight  for  that  of 
assassin.  That  I  am  no  coward,  the  lord  of 
Muscovy  will  tell  thee,  and  his  best  voevodas  ; 
and  therefore  I  counsel  thee  to  employ  thine 
arms  and  thine  ardour  in  a  better  cause,  and  to 
seek  a  more  equal  combat.  I  will  add,  besides, 
SIgnor  Knight,  that  violence,  whatever  it  may 
do,  can  only  hasten  the  destruction  of  the  rights 
in  which  thou  art  unlawfully  dressed.  Be  rea- 
sonable and  calm,  and  perhaps  fate  itself  may 
aid  thee  in  spite  of  justice." 

With  these  words  Aristotle  begged  the  knight 
to  leave  him,  and  not  to  detain  him  from  the 
important  duties  confided  to  him  by  the  Great 
Prince.  In  case  of  refusal,  he  said  he  would 
be  obliged  to  call  in  from  the  antechamber  the 
two  officers  who  were  enjoined  to  watch  the 
ambassador. 

The  knight  Poppel  was  rash  and  haughty, 
but  not  brave.  In  men  like  him  true  courage 
cannot  exist.  He  only  wore  its  form,  and  this 
could  deceive  inexperience  alone.  "What  a 
well-made  fellow  !"  you  cry,  admiring  the 
graceful  outline  of  some  elderly  dandy.  "  'Tis 
all  buckram,  my  dear  sir,  buckram  and  skill ; 
nothing  else  in  the  world  !'  his  valet-de-cham- 
bre  will  tell  you,  and  unmask  before  you  this 
artificial  Antinous.  Just  so  was  Poppel's  cour- 
age Abashed,  feeling  the  good  lesaon  he  had 
just  received,  and  full  of  dim  ideas  of  a  rival 
about  to  dispute  his  rights  to  the  inheritance  of 
a  nobie  name  and  rich  estate,  he  left  the  artist  ; 
but  even  then  he  would  not  confess  his  defeat. 
With  his  nose  haughtily  lifted  in  the  air,  like 
some  bawbling  shallop  just  cast  by  a  mighty 
billow  on  the  beach,  he  hummed,  as  he  passed 
through  the  door,  the  gay  song — 

"  O,  Charles  the  Gre.nt  was  an  emperor  bold  I 

Seven  ba.slards  he  had,  no  more  : 
They  all.  did  dream  of  a  crown  of  gold, 
Yet  only  one  it  wore." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    CAMPAIGN. 
"  O  whUher  fly,  my  gxie(  to  "scape  ? 
To  fdrest  green,  my  \v6o  to  slay  ? 
To  rivers  bright,  my  \v6o  to  drown? 
To  !><iimy  fields,  my  w6e  to  lose  ? 
In  f6re8U  green  'tis  ih^ro  with  me  ! 
In  rivers  like  a  t6ar  it  flows  ! 
In  siinny  plain  the  gri*»s  it  dries  ! 
From  fAther  and  from  mdlher  aye 
I  hide  myself,  1  cArth  myself." 

Merzliakoff. 

Youth,  like  strong  mead,  foams  and  swells 
over  the  brink  until  it  calms  itself  It  was  to 
the  revelry  of  youth  that  Khabur  devoted  the 


THE   HERETIC. 


B1 


whole  night,  in  which  now  wine,  now  struggles 
"with  hit  coiTi'ades  for  supremacy  in  sports,  now 
love,  ill  turn  called  into  play  all  his  vigorous  en- 
ergy, and  in  all  he  came  off  victorious. 

The  morning  star  lighted  him  from  the  gate 
of  tlie  Despot  of  the  Morea  :  the  rosy  dawn 
smiled  on  him  as  he  reached  his  home. 

Soon  throughout  the  boyarin's  quarter  there 
began  an  unusual  stir.  Hither  and  thither  bus- 
tled the  domestics,  bringing  arms  from  the  store- 
room, trying  the  paces  of  a  steed,  preparing  an 
abundant  provision  of  meat  and  drink  for  the 
armour-bearer,  the  squire,  and  other  slaves,  vvho 
were  to  accompany  their  master's  son  to  the 
field.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  bustle  was  heard 
the  loud  clattering  of  horses'  feet,  and  immedi- 
ately afterwards  a  numerous  procession  stopped 
at  the  gate.  All  who  composed  it  were  chosen 
men,  matched  in  height  and  appearance  to  one 
another. 

Their  cheeks  glowed  with  the  purple  bloom 
of  health  ;  their  eyes  sparkled  like  the  glance  of 
the  falcon.  "  Largess  to  friend,  death  to  foe  !" 
■was  written  on  their  haughty  yet  courteous 
brows.  They  were  attired  in  short  kaftans  of 
Germa?:;  cloth  ;  on  their  heads  were  perched  flat 
bonnets,  coquettishly  placed  aside,  giving  them 
the  air  of  gay  wild  gallants.  A  girdle,  embroid- 
ered with  silver,  tightly  confined  their  waist  ; 
by  their  side  hung  scabbards  containing  a  long 
knife  and  a  dagger,  cnlayled  yn  goldsmythis 
werke ;  at  their  backs  a  cudgel,  so  ponderous 
that  none  but  an  athletic  champion  could  wield 
it.  From  this  band  three  men  detached  them- 
selves, and  dismounting  from  their  horses,  an- 
nounced iheir  arrival  by  means  of  a  ring  sus- 
pended from  the  gate-post.  These  were  the 
heads  and  hundred- men  selected  from  several 
guilds  of  the  silk-merchants  and  clothiers,  who 
"were  desirous  of  seeking  war-honour  before 
Tver.  They  had  come,  by  permission  of  the 
Great  Prince,  to  how  before  Sfmskoi-Khabar, 
and  entreat  him  to  take  them  under  his  com- 
mand. The  son  of  Obrazetz,  well  known  for  his 
daring  at  feasts  and  in  the  city  brawls,  was  no 
less  celebrated  for  military  bravery  ;  he  had  al- 
j-eady  once  led  the  volunteers  against  the  M6rd- 
vui,  and  had  gained  in  that  expedition  a  large 
share  of  glory  for  himself  and  for  his  troops. 
In  his  campaign  against  the  Mordvui,  had  been 
exhibited  not  only  bravery,  the  quality  of  every 
private  soldier,  but  the  rapid  intelligent  glance 
of  a  general,  skilful  to  take  advantage  of  every 
jneans  offered  by  the  enemy's  ground,  and  the 
customs  of  those  against  whom  he  was  opera- 
ting. He  had  also  shown  himself  possessed  of 
the  power  of  inspiring  love  and  discipline  in  his 
warriors,  who  obeyed  his  orders  with  good-will. 
The  Prince  Daniel  Dmitrievitch  Kholmskii,  who 
had  entrusted  him  with  a  detachment  against 
Kazan,  predicted,  after  this  trial,  that  he  would 
be  a  famous  leader.  Ivan  Vassilievitch  knew 
well  how  to  appreciate  these  qualities,  and  on 
their  account  pardoned  Khabar  for  the  wild 
.pranks  of  his  youth  ;  although  he  usually  said, 
on  these  occasions,  that  he  forgave  him  on  ac- 
count of  Ivan  the  Young's  friendship  for  him. 
.And  now  Khabar  expected  with  delight  the  com- 
mand of  the  volunteers.  They  were  all  enter- 
tained, and  drank  the  loving-cup,  which  the  old 
voevoda  himself  carried  round  to  them,  wishing 
.each  of  them  the  success  he  desired.    The  next 


day  they  were  to  assemble  at  St.  John's  Church, 
there  to  hear  a  mass — from  thence  to  repair  to 
the  parish  church  of  St.  Nicholas  of  the  Flax, 
and  thence — straight  to  horse.  Obrazetz  prom- 
ised to  obtain  them  from  Ivan  Vassilievitch  the 
favour  of  being  sent  in  the  avant-garde,  in  order 
that  they,  with  the  body-guard  of  the  Tsar, 
might  clear  the  line  of  march  before  the  army. 
At  daybreak  the  next  morning  all  the  house- 
hold of  Obrazetz  was  on  foot.  When  the  hour 
arrived  for  arming  his  son  for  the  march,  the 
voevoda's  face  was  clouded  with  sorrow  :  this 
was  no  transitory  grief,  like  the  vernal  inunda- 
tion which  swells  suddenly  on  all  sides,  roars 
over  the  whole  country,  and  subsides  as  speed- 
ily as  it  rose,  vanishing  as  though  it  had  never 
been.  No,  the  father's  sorrow  resembled  a  clear 
fountain,  which  wells  up  half-unseen  from  be- 
neath a  ponderous  stone,  and  yet  feeds  eternal- 
ly some  wide  river.  Many  dark  thoughts,  during 
the  past  night,  had  risen  in  the  old  man's  soul ; 
and  his  anxiety  was  not  unreasonable.  He  had 
already  loet  one  son  in  war — that  darling  youth 
even  now  oft  appeared  before  him  in  angelic 
robes  ;  then  pointing  with  indescribable  anguish 
to  a  wound  which  marked  his  breast,  seemed  to 
wail  forth — "  It  paineth  me,  oh,  my  father  !  yes, 
it  paineth  me  sore."  Then  came  his  mother — 
what  precious  beings,  and  how  bitter  their  loss  ! 
And  now  the  old  man,  following  them  with  his 
eyes,  dismissed  his  remaining  son  to  the  war  ; 
and  even  if  the  battle  should  spare  him,  yet  the 
lists  awaited  him  at  Moscow.  If  he  should  fall, 
who  would  remain  to  protect  his  sister — a  maid- 
en not  yet  settled  in  lifel  But  dishon.our  was 
worse  than  death — "  The  dead  feel  no  shame," 
is  a  saying  valued  among  the  Russians.  Be- 
sides, he  would  never  survive  shame.  All  his 
trusts  was  in  the  ordeal  of  God :  the  mercies  of 
the  Lord  are  unaccountable.  Trusting  in  them, 
Obrazetz  proceeded  to  the  oratory,  whither,  by 
his  command,  he  was  followed  by  Khabar  and 
Anastasia. 

Silently  they  go,  plunged  in  feelings  of  awe  : 
they  enter  the  oratory  ;  the  solitary  window  is 
curtained ;  in  the  obscurity,  feebly  dispelled  by 
the  mysterious  glimmer  of  the  lamp,  through 
the  deep  stillness,  fitfully  broken  by  the  flaring 
of  the  taper,  they  were  gazed  down  upon  from 
every  side  by  the  dark  images  of  the  Saviour, 
the  Holy  Mother  of  God,  and  the  Holy  Saints. 
From  them  there  seems  to  breathe  a  chilly  air 
as  of  another  world  :  here  thou  canst  not  hide 
thyself  from  their  glances  ;  from  every  side 
they  follow  thee  in  the  slightest  movement  of 
thy  thoughts  and  feelings.  Their  wasted  faces, 
feeble  limbs,  and  withered  frames — their  flesh 
macerated  by  prayer  and  fasting— the  cross, 
the  agony — all  here  speaks  of  the  victory  of 
will  over  passions.  Themselves  an  example  of 
purity  in  body  and  soul,  they  demand  the  same 
purity  from  all  who  enter  the  oratory,  their 
holy  shrine. 

To  them  Anastasia  had  recourse  in  the  agita- 
tion of  her  heart ;  from  them  she  implored  aid 
against  the  temptations  of  the  Evil  One  ;  but 
help  there  was  none  for  her,  the  weak  in  will, 
the  devoted  to  the  passion  which  she  felt  for  an 
unearthly  tempter. 

Thrice,  with  crossing  and  with  prayer,  did 
Obrazetz  bow  before  the  images  ;  thrice  did  his 
son  and  daughter  bow  after  him.     This  pious 


THE    HERETIC. 


preface  finished,  the  old  man  chanted  the  psalm, 
"  Whoso  dwelleth  under  the  defence  of  the  Most 
High.'"'  Thus,  even  in  our  own  times,  among 
us  in  Russia,  the  pious  warrior,  when  going  to 
battle,  almost  always  arms  himself  with  this 
shield  of  faith.  With  deep  feeling,  Khabar  re- 
peated the  words  after  his  father.  All  this  pre- 
pared Anastasia  for  something  terrible;  she 
trembled  like  a  dove  which  is  caught  by  the 
storm  in  the  open  plain,  where  there  is  no  shel- 
ter for  her  from  the  tempest  that  is  ready  to 
burst  above  her.  When  they  arose  from  prayer, 
Obrazetz  took  from  the  shrine  a  small  image  of 
St.  George  the  Victorious,  cast  in  silver,  with 
a  ring  for  suspending  it  on  the  bosom.  "  In  the 
name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  !"  he  said,  with  a  solemn  voice, 
holding  the  image  in  his  left  hand,  and  with  his 
right  making  three  signs  of  the  cross — "  with 
this  mercy  of  God  I  bless  thee,  my  dear  and 
only  son,  Ivan,  and  I  pray  that  the  holy  martyr, 
George,  may  givr»  thee  mastery  and  victory 
over  thine  enemies  :  keep  this  treasure  even  as 
the  apple  of  thine  eye.  Put  it  not  off  from  thee 
in  any  wise,  unless  the  Lord  willeth  that  the 
foe  shall  take  it  from  thee.  I  know  thee,  Ivdn, 
they  will  not  take  it  from  thee  living ;  but  they 
may  from  thy  corse.  Keep  in  mind  at  every 
season  thy  father's  blessing." 

Anastasia  turned  as  white  as  snow,  and  trem- 
bled in  every  limb  ;  her  bosom  felt  oppressed  as 
•with  a  heavy  stone,  a  sound  as  of  hammering 
•was  in  her  ears.  She  seemed  to  hear  all  the 
images,  one  after  another,  sternly  repeating  her 
father's  words.  He  continued — "It  is  a  great 
thing,  this  blessing.  He  who  remembereth  it 
not,  or  lightly  esteemeth  it,  from  him  shall  the 
heavenly  Father  turn  away  his  face,  and  shall 
leave  him  for  ever  and  ever.  He  shall  be  cast 
out  from  the  kingdom  of  he«ven,  and  his  por- 
tion shall  be  in  hell.  Keep  well  my  solemn 
word." 

Every  accent  of  Obrazetz  fell  upon  Anasta- 
sia's  heart  like  a  drop  of  molten  pitch.  She 
seemed  to  be  summoned  before  the  dreadful 
judgment-seat  of  Christ,  to  hear  her  father's 
curse,  and  her  own  eternal  doom.  She  could 
restrain  herself  no  longer,  and  sobbed  bitterly  ; 
the  light  grew  dim  in  her  eyes  ;  her  feet  began 
to  totter.  Obrazetz  heard  her  sobs,  and  inter- 
rupted his  exhortation.  "  Nastia,  Niistia!  what 
ailcth  theeV  he  enquired,  with  lively  sympa- 
thy, of  his  daughter,  whom  he  tenderly  loved. 
She  had  not  strength  to  utter  a  word,  and  fell 
into  her  brother's  arms.  Crossing  himself,  the 
boyarin  put  back  the  image  into  its  former  place, 
and  then  hastened  to  sprinkle  his  child  with 
holy  water  which  always  stood  ready  in  the  or- 
atory. Anastasia  revived,  and  when  she  saw 
herself  surrounded  by  her  father  and  brother, 
in  a  dark,  narrow,  sepulchral  place,  she  uttered 
a  wild  cry,  and  turned  her  dim  eyes  around 
"  My  life,  my  darhng  child,  my  dove  !  what  ail- 
eth  thee  !"  cried  the  father.  "  Recollect  thy- 
self: thou  art  in  the  oratory,  'Tis  plain  some 
evil  eye  hath  struck  thee.  Pray  to  the  Holy 
Virgin  :  she,  the  merciful  one,  will  save  thee 
from  danger." 

The  father  and  son  bore  her  to  the  image  of 
the  Mother  of  God.  Her  brother  with  difficulty 
raised  her  arm,  and  she,  all  trembling,  made  the 
bign  of  the  cross.     Deeply,  heavily  she  sighed. 


applied  her  ice-cold  lips  to  the  image,  and  then 
signed  to  them  with  her  hand  that  they  should 
carry  her  out  speedily.  She  fancied  that  shs 
saw  the  Holy  Virgin  shake  her  head  with  a  re- 
proachful air. 

When  they  had  carried  Anastasia  to  her 
chamber,  she  felt  better.  The  neigh  of  a  steed 
at  Antony's  staircase  enabled  her  to  collect  her 
thoughts  and  come  to  herself  The  sound 
turned  her  mind  to  the  beloved  foreigner,  and 
to  the  danger  which  would  have  menaced  her- 
self and  him  if  she  had  betrayed  the  secret  of 
the  crucifix.  The  feeling  of  remorse  was  over- 
come by  love,  and  in  its  place  arose  the  desire 
to  remove  the  suspicions  of  her  father  and 
brother  as  to  the  real  cause  of  her  illness,  if 
such  suspicions  existed.  She  summoned  up 
her  energies  to  deceive,  but  as  yet  she  knew 
not  how.  The  words,  "  separation  from  her 
brother,"  "  the  danger  of  war,"  "  the  weariness 
of  solitude,"  cold  and  unconnected  words,  died 
away  upon  her  lips.  But  it  was  not  a  difficult 
task  to  convince  them,  even  without  words, 
that  these  were  the  real  causes.  The  dove, 
the  water  of  the  fountain,  untrodden  snow,  were 
figured  in  the  mind  of  her  father  and  brother 
as  less  pure  than  Anastasia.  Obrazetz  would 
have  slain  the  man  who  should  dare  to  say  to 
the  contrary ;  it  would  have  been  a  death-blow 
to  himself  even  to  suspect  it.  In  his  head  there 
perhaps  flitted  some  dim  thoughts  of  ill  ;  per- 
haps of  ill  caused  by  the  heretic  •,  but  that  An- 
astasia herself  could  ever  venture  to  enter  inta 
any  plot  of  the  heart  with  him,  could  not  even 
be  conceived  by  the  boyarin's  imagination.  The 
voevoda  and  his  son,  tranquillized  by  her  recov- 
ery, returned  to  the  oratory  ;  not,  however, 
without  apprehension,  that  the  benediction,  so 
painfully  interrupted,  might  turn  out  unfortu- 
nate. The  father  feared,  that  the  cause  of  this 
unlucky  accident  was  God's  anger  against  his 
son  on  account  of  his  dissipated  life.  Calling 
to  his  aid  the  words  of  the  holy  fathers,  the 
examples  of  purity  and  sinlessness  exhibited  by 
many  famous  Russian  warriors,  who  had  earn- 
ed glory  on  this  earth,  and  an  unfading  crown 
in  heaven,  he  exhorted  Khabar  to  reform—"  On 
thee,  more  than  another,"  said  Obrazetz,  "  lieth 
a  heavy  answer  for  thy  sins.  Thee  the  Lord 
hath  gifted  with  reason,  with  bodily  strength, 
with  valour  :  to  one  is  given  a  talent,  to  anoth- 
er two  ;  to  thee  is  given  much,  and  thou  tram- 
plest  it  all  in  the  mire.  The  Prince  Kholmskii 
laudeth  thy  military  talents,  and  hopeth  that  in 
time  thou  wilt  replace  me.  The  old  men,  once 
my  companions  in  arms,  and  now  thine,  my 
heart— all  tell  me  that  the  name  of  Khabar- 
Simskoi  will  be  yet  more  famous  in  Russia  than 
the  name  of  Obrazetz-Simskoi.  Thy  father, 
thy  sovereign — the  Great  Prince,  thy  native 
land,  expect  this  from  thee.  Dishonour  not  my 
hoary  head,  trample  not  upon  my  bones  when 
I  am  laid  in  the  grave — upon  the  ashes  of  thy 
mother  and  thy  brother.  Forget  not  that  thou 
hast  a  sister  of  an  age  to  be  married  .-  thy  shame 
may  fall  on  her— on  all  thy  race.  Remember 
that  the  Lists  —the  jndc;meni  of  Go(/— await  thee 
here  :  to  it  thou  must  offer  thyself  with  pure 
repentance,  washed  from  every  s»tain.  Ivan,  it 
is  time  to  repent ;  it  is  time  to  remember  that 
I  have  not  long  to  live.  Soon  I,  too,  shall  de- 
part to  another  world.  What  dost  thou  com- 
mand me  to  tell  thy  mother  there  !" 


THE    HERETIC. 


8ft 


The  old  man's  voice  was  full  of  sorrow, 
though  not  a  drop  stood  in  his  stern  eye.  On 
Khabar's  face  the  tears  poured  down  in  streams  .- 
he  fell  at  his  father's  feet,  and  gave  him  a  pro- 
mise, in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  in  the  name  of 
his  mother,  to  reform  from  that  moment :  and  to 
merit  the  love  of  his  kinsmen  both  here  on  earth, 
and  beyond  the  grave.  As  witnesses  to  his  vow 
he  took  the  saints  of  God.  The  promise  was 
sincere  ;  his  strength  and  firmness  of  will  were 
sufficient  for  its  performance. 

The  faces  of  both  father  and  son  brightened 
up  :  their  hearts,  too,  were  more  at  ease.  At 
the  same  time  it  seemed  to  them  as  though  the 
oratory  grew  lighter,  and  the  images  of  the 
saints  gazed  benignantly  upon  them. 

At  length  the  bells  tolled  for  mid-day  mass  ; 
mournfully  they  clanged  ;  they  announced  to 
almost  every  house  the  departure  of  one  dear 
inhabitant  at  least.  Anastasia  made  an  effort, 
and  without  wailing  till  her  brother  came  to  bid 
farewell  to  her,  went  herself  to  meet  him.  Kha- 
bar,  whom  Ivan  Vassilievitch  called  his  post- 
haste voevoda,  was  already  in  full  armour.  His 
old  squire  gazed  with  rapture,  now  on  his  char- 
ger, now  on  the  glittering  panoply,  as  though 
upon  a  creation  of  his  own  :  the  one  he  had 
decked  out  with  all  his  skill ;  the  other,  with  all 
his  skill  also,  he  had  polished  till  it  shone  like  a 
mirror.  In  the  farewell  of  the  brother  and  sister 
spoke  love,  the  most  tender,  the  most  touching. 
Often  was  the  iron  cuirass  dimmed  with  tears  ; 
often  did  the  hard  gauntlets  imprint  the  trace  of 
his  embrace  upon  the  delicate  waist  of  Anasta- 
sia. All  the  domestics  assembled  in  a  crowd 
on  the  steps,  and  followed  the  boyarin's  son  with 
blessings.  His  father  accompanied  him  as  far 
as  the  church. 

Some  one  came  to  meet  him,  proudly  pranc- 
ing on  a  fiery  steed,  which  raised  a  cloud  of  dust 
as  he  curveted  along.  The  people  stopped  as 
he  passed,  and  doffed  their  caps.  By  his  rich 
armour,  by  the  steel  helmet  adorned  with  tur- 
quoise, by  the  silver  inlaid  work  of  the  cuirass 
and  sword,  glittering  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  you 
would  have  taken  him  for  some  noble  youth  who 
had  just  undergone  the  postriga  ;  hut  in  his  face, 
his  stature,  his  gestures,  you  would  recognize 
in  him  a  boy,  delighted  with  his  steed  and  ar- 
mour as  with  a  toy.  It  was  Andriousha,  Aris- 
totle's son — himself  a  toy  of  the  Great  Prince. 
He  had  ridden  from  the  Church  of  the  Annun- 
ciation, where  the  ceremony  of  the  postriga  had 
been  performed  on  him  :  his  appearance  struck 
Obrazetz  painfully  ;  it  recalled  to  his  memory 
his  own  fair  boy.  Just  such  had  been  his  young- 
er son,  when  he  was  armed  to  attack  the  Knights 
of  the  Cross.  The  boyarin  hastened  to  enter 
the  church,  and  by  prayer  to  stifle  in  his  heart 
the  mournful  cry  of  nature.  In  bidding  adieu 
to  his  remaining  son,  he  clasped  him  in  a  long 
and  strict  embrace.—"  The  Lord  be  with  thee  I" 
he  cried  in  a  quivering  voice  ;  and  these  words 
accompanied  Khabar  throughout  the  whole  cam- 
paign, greeted  him  when  first  he  opened  his 
eyes,  and  closed  his  lids  to  coming  sleep.  With 
these  words  he  was  armed  more  strongly  than 
with  his  iron  helmet  or  his  sword. 

Andriousha  hastened  to  pay  his  visit  to  Anas- 
tasia before  the  boyarin  could  return  from 
church.  In  the  antechamber  of  the  upper  room 
he  met  the  nurse,  who,  congratulating  him  upon 


(he  postriga,  cautiously  yet  caressingly  enquir- 
ed, if  the  darling  young  gallant  had  seen  her 
mistress's  crucifix  :  perhaps  she  had  dropped  it, 
Andriousha  had  found  it,  had  desired  to  play  her 
a  trick,  and  had  hidden  it.  At  this  unexpected 
question  the  little  warrior  fired  up  like  gunpow- 
der, but  speedily  recovered  himself,  and  said 
with  indignation — "Dost  thou  jest,  nurse  1" 

And  she  began  to  swear,  and  call  God  to  wit- 
ness that  she  spoke  the  truth  ;  and  only  implor- 
ed him  not  to  say  a  word  about  it  either  to- 
Anastasia  or  to  the  boyarin. 

"  Thou  knowest  how  stern  he  is,"  she  added  ; 
"  he  will  straightway  cut  off  the  poor  woman's 
head.  But  if  thou  hadst  seen,  my  darling,  how 
thy  godmother  laments,  how  restless  she  is  ! 
she  can  neither  eat  nor  drink,  and  talketh  in  her 
sleep  of  nothing  but  the  cross.  Ay,  and  me- 
tliinks  she  repeateth  also  the  name  of  the  ac- 
cursed heretic  T  Of  a  surety,  the  guardian  angel 
hath  fled  from  my  child." 

The  old  woman  awaited  Andriousha's  reply. 
Andriousha  was  already  in  his  godmother's 
chamber.  Here  he  was  met  with  smiles,  wel- 
comes, caresses  springing  froin  the  heart ;  but 
under  these  roses  the  boy's  observation  plainly 
saw  the  serpent  Grief  It  peered  out  through 
Anastasia's  every  word,  every  gesture.  He  did 
not  long  remain  in  the  chamber ;  with  his  load 
of  sad  remarks  he  departed  to  the  leech,  and 
related  all.  How  deeply  touched  was  Antony 
at  the  recital  !  He  upbraided,  he  cursed  him- 
self, for  listening  to  two  children,  for  taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  weakness  of  an  inexperienced 
maiden,  accepting  from  her  a  present  which 
might  ruin  her  for  ever.  To  restore  the  gift,  to 
print  a  farewell  kiss  upon  it,  and  to  pray  to  God 
that  the  crucifix  might  arrive  in  time  to  relieve 
Anastasia  from  all  pain  and  danger — this  is  what; 
Antony  hastened  to  do.  This  prayer  was  heard ; 
the  cross  was  received  in  time. 

Anastasia  was  deeply  agitated  when  she  saw- 
it.  It  is  plain  he  hath  not  worn  it  !  .  .  .  .  she 
thought,  and  a  kind  of  despair  overwhelmed  her. 
It  had  been  better  if  her  father  had  known  of 
the  loss  of  the  crucifix.  What  would  become 
of  her"!  There  was  a  time  when  the  dwellers 
in  heaven  would  not  have  renounced  her,  thougti 
the  Holy  Virgin  herself  might  have  looked  into 
her  heart  :  and  now,  black  passions  are  boiling 
in  her  soul ;  her  hands  almost  rejected  the 
cross  ;  her  lips  almost  uttered — "  Perish,  then, 
my  soul  !"  ....  But  the  guardian  angel  arrest- 
ed her  on  the  brink  of  danger  :  she  seized  the 
crucifix,  and  with  tearful  eyes  placed  it  in  her 
bosom  ;  her  godson,  in  broken  fragments  and 
with  great  caution,  in  order  to  escape  the  nurse's 
sharp  eyes  and  ears,  related  his  conversatioa 
with  the  old  woman,  the  tormenting  fears  of 
Antony  lest  others  might  learn  the  loss  of  the 
precious  crucifix— his  fears  for  her  health  and 
tranquillity — Andriousha  related  all — all  that  his 
friend  had  told  him,  and  .\nastasia  could  not  but 
bless  them  both.  She  promised  herself  to  be 
more  cautious  and  more  reasonable  ;  she  tried 
to  promise  to  cease  to  love — but  this  she  could 
not  do.  The  cross  passed  from  the  bosom  of 
the  dear  heretic  to  that  of  the  maiden  ;  and 
there,  helped  by  Andriousha's  words,  it  added 
new  fuel  to  the  flame. 

The  cunning  nurse,  though  sh.e  had  heard- 
nothing  of  what  had  passed  between  the  god- 


90 


THE    HERETIC. 


mother  and  godson,  guessed  that  there  was  some 
secret  concealed  in  it.  These  conjectures  were 
confirmed,  when,  on  undressing  her  foster-child, 
she  saw  on  her  breast  the  silver  crucifix,  which 
Anastasia  took  care,  as  if  accidentally,  to  show. 
To  communicate  these  guesses  direct  to  the 
boyarin,  she  dared  not :  they  might  cause  ill 
consequences  to  herself,  to  Anastasia,  to  An- 
driousha  :  she  might  raise  a  conflagration  be- 
yond her  skill  to  extinguish.  She  might,  how- 
ever, provide  against  future  danger.  To  suc- 
ceed in  this,  it  was  only  necessary  prudently 
and  cunningly  to  hint  to  the  boyarin  that  it  was 
improper  for  Andriousha  to  have  free  access  to 
his  godmother's  chamber.  He  was,  it  was  true, 
but  fourteen  years  old — a  mere  child  ;  and, .be- 
sides, was  so  quiet — so  well-behaved  !  But 
Andriousha  had  just  received  the  postriga  by 
special  favour  of  the  Great  Prince,  Ivan  Vassi- 
lievitch  ;  and  the  word  "postriga"  turned  every 
boy's  head.  As  he  was  fit  for  war,  he  could  not 
be  a  more  child.  Who  would  take  the  trouble 
to  inform  himself  of  the  youth's  age?  Evil 
tongues  would  often  hiot  harm  which  they  dared 
not  utter.  The  honour  of  a  maiden  ought  to  be 
like  a  mirror,  which,  though  not  defiled,  is  yet 
dimmed  by  an  impure  breath.  As  the  nurse 
thought,  so  she  acted.  The  boyarin  thanked 
her  for  her  sensible  advice  ;  and  promised  that, 
when  Andriousha  returned  from  the  campaign, 
his  access  to  Anastasia  should  be  interdicted, 
and  he  should  be  only  allowed  to  speak  to  her 
in  the  presence  of  her  father  and  brother.  All 
was  arranged  as  well  as  possible. 

Antony  himself,  the  cause  of  thisiamily  agi- 
tation— hitherto  the  unknown  cause — determin- 
ed to  remove  the  slightest  suspicion  from  the 
beautiful  creature  for  whose  honour  he  was 
Teady  to  lay  down  his  life.  He  sought  no  fur- 
ther opportunities  of  seeing  Anastasia.  On  the 
morrow  he  was  to  set  off  on  the  expedition  with 
the  Great  Prince's  train  ;  and  he  instantly  call- 
ed for  his  horse,  and  rode  away  from  the  house 
of  the  boyarin,  in  order  toi)ass  the  night  at  Ar- 
istotle's ;  from  thence  start  on  the  march,  de- 
terminim?  never  more  to  set  foot  in  the  dwelling 
inhabited  by  Anastasia.  "  Time,"  he  thought, 
"reason,  the  impossibility  of  our  meeting,  will 
■vanquish  a  passion  which,  perhaps,  is  nothing 
but  the  fancy  of  a  maiden  shut  up  between  four 
walls.  I  will,  at  least,  restore  her  to  tranquil- 
lity." 

As  soon  as  he  was  left  alone  with  his  own 
thoughts,  he  cast  back  a  glance  on  the  path 
which  he  liad  trod  since  his  arrival  in  Russia. 
Wherefore  had  he  journeyed  thither  1  Was  it 
not  that  he  might  devote  himself  to  the  service 
of  science  and  humanity,  to  gain  a  triumph  for 
them?  And  what  had  he  performed — this  priest 
of  the  beautiful  and  of  the  good  !  He  had  cured 
a  parrot  ;  he  had  dressed  gallantly  ;  had  suc- 
ceeded in  pleasing  the  Great  Prmce,  and  in 
leading  astray  the  heart  of  an  inexperienced 
maiden.  A  noble,  ;i  glorious  triumph  !  Was 
it  worth  while  to  come  so  far  for  this  !  In  Italy 
lie  was  at  least  free  :  hut  now  he  was  the  bond- 
slave of  passion— now  he  could  no  longer  hope 
to  shake  oflits  chains.  He  could  never  return 
to  his  native  land  ;  he  had  exchanged  it  for  a 
foreign  country  :  in  Ru.ssia  from  henceforvvard 
he  must  live — in  Russia  die.  To  the  house  of 
a  Russian  boyarin,  who  detested   him,   were 


linked  his  thoughts— his  whole  existence :  in 
that  house  lay  all  the  weal,  all  the  woe,  of  his 
life.  There  was  his  fate.  Such  was  the  ac- 
count to  which  Antony  called  himself  respecting 
his  actual  position. 

In  the  struggle  with  his  passion  he  promised 
to  free  himself  from  its  slavery,  and  to  quiet 
the  cry  which  arose  against  it  from  the  depths 
of  his  conscience.  He  promised ;  ay  !  we  shall 
see  which  of  the  two  young  men,  nearly  of  the 
same  age,  will  possess  strength  of  mind  enough 
to  perform  his  vow — the  Russian  wild  gallant, 
or  the  steady  bachelor  of  Padua. 

The  gates  of  the  heretic's  quarter  were  closed 
and  locked  up.  Anastasia  saw  this  :  her  heart 
and  ears  greedily  followed  the  clatter  of  the 
horse's  feet  as  it  died  away  in  the  distance  ; 
drank  in  the  last  clink  of  the  shoes,  as  though 
the  sound  were  the  dying  beat  of  the  beloved 
one's  pulse  ere  it  was  for  ever  stilled  He  was 
gone  ....  the  poor  girl  was  terrified  by  her 
loneliness  :  her  heart  died  within  her  :  it  seem- 
ed to  her  as  if  father,  brother,  kiu'-all  the  world 
— abandoned  her,  an  unhappy  orphan.  Oh, 
with  what  delight  would  she  now  undergo  the 
tortures  of  that  morning  and  the  preceding  days, 
but  to  know  that  he  was  there — not  far  from  her 
— in  the  same  house  with  her ;  that  she  might 
behold  him,  might  meet  his  eye,  and  even  await 
his  returning  ! 

An  unusual  noise  disturbed  Anastasia's  rev- 
erie. The  tramp  of  horsemen  filled  the  neigh- 
bouring street. 

"Hark!  they  strike  the  atabal  !"  cried  the 
nurse,  rushing  to  the  window.  "  Look !  a  great 
troop  is  going  by.  See,  how  the  soldiers' 
casques  and  breastplates  glitter  in  the  sun  ! 
And  there  is  the  voevdda  at  the  head  of  his 
band  :  in  his  hand  he  beareth  a  shestopeor 
adorned  with  precious  stones.  In  heaven  tliere 
is  but  one  sun  ;  but  there  every  gem  is  a  sun  ! 
And  how  young,  how  handsome  he  is  !  Ah  ! 
Holy  Mother  !  it  is  the  young  prince  Ivan.  Oh, 
oh  !  but  for  Helena  of  Vallachia  thou  wouldst 
now  be  a  princess  :  the  Tsar  would  have  loved 
thee,  and  kissed  thy  rosy  lips  ;  and  thou  wouldst 
have  been  able,  my  dove,  to  cherish  mine  old 
age  :  I  should  have  slept  under  marten  skins, 
pillowed  on  swan's  down,  dressed  in  silk  and 
sindal,  and  quaffed  strong  mead.  But  it  was 
fated  that  the  Vallachian  should  turn  up  to  cloud 
our  happiness,  and  to  rob  us  of  a  dear  bride- 
groom. She  came  hither  to  Russia,  and  brought 
us  nothing  but  the  Jewish  heresy — she  and  the 
deacon  Koun'tzin  ;  may  she  and  the  accursed 
deacon  burn  for  it  I  I,ook  now  !  the  young 
prince  Ivan  !  if  he  be  not  grown  as  sad  and 
gloomy  as  if  he  had  become  a  widower  yester- 
day !  He  mourneth  for  thee,  my  child.  As  he 
passod  our  house,  his  heart  could  not  resist, 
and  he  looked  up  tenderly  to  thy  window  ;  and 
see!  they  bear  the  standard  on  a  waggon!* 
Look,  how  it  fluttereth  in  the  breeze !  Cross 
thyself,  my  child,  before  the  image  of  our  Sav- 
iour" .... 

The  old  woman  very  reverently  made  the 
holy  sign  ;  and  Anastasia,  without  looking  out 
of  the  window,  sitting  on  her  bed,  mechanically 
crossed  herself     The  nurse  continued — "The 


*  Thi'  RFfnt  slanilnrd,  like  the  onflamme  of  France,  the 
Scottish  eiisi|;ii  nt  Uannockbum,  &.C.,  was  borne  oa  a  wheel 
carnage. ~T.  B.  S. 


THE    HERETIC. 


91 


image  is  embroidered  in  gold  ;  they  say  that 
Sophia  Phomi'nishna  worked  it  with  her  own 
hands.  Hey  !  what  fair  gallants  !  Who  can 
tell  !  perhaps  one  of  them  is  thy  future  hus- 
band .  .  .  .  O,  Lord  !  O,  saints  of  mine  !  Look  ! 
— 'Or  do  my  old  eyes  deceive  mel  Ah,  'tis  he, 
'tis  he,  in  verity  !  our  tale-teller,  Aphanasii  Ni- 
kftin  ;  his  bare  feet  are  fettered— his  poor  hands 
are  fixed  behind  with  melted  lead  .'"* 

In  reality,  they  were  carrying  along  the  tale- 
teller, Aphanasii  Nikitin.  in  chains,  under  a 
guard  of  constables.  What  had  the  poor  man 
done?  why  this  punishment?  Thus  it  was: 
Ivan  Vassilievitch  having  been  informed  that  he 
was  a  native  of  Tver,  and  that  he  knew  every 
corner  and  every  bush  around  it,  ordered  him 
-with  his  own  lips  to  accompany  the  army,  and 
■on  arriving  at  the  city  to  give  any  information 
that  might  be  required  of  him.  To  this  Apha- 
nasii Nikitin  answered — "  The  will  of  God  is 
mighty  in  heaven,  and  the  will  of  the  Great 
Prince,  Ivan  Vassilievitch,  on  earth.  Let  him 
order  me  to  drown  myself — I  will  drown  ;  but 
against  my  native  city,  against  the  golden- 
domed  cathedral  of  our  Saviour,  I  will  not  go. 
Sooner  will  I  drink  mine  own  blood  than  con- 
sent to  lead  an  army  against  my  kinsmen  and 
my  brethren."  At  these  words  the  fury  of  Ivan 
Vassilievitch  was  awakened — "What  !  this  is 
not  the  voevodo  Prince  Kholmskii  !"  he  cried 
in  an  angry  voice  :  "  A  pedlar — a  clown  !  Let 
him  be  put  in  chains,  and  carried  to  Tver  wheth- 
■er  he  will  or  no.  Since  he  refuseth  to  show  us 
the  road  thither,  we  will  show  it  to  him,  and 
further  too  !" 

It  was  for  this  cause  that  the  tale-teller,  Aph- 
anasii Nikitin,  was  in  chains.  The  iron  clink- 
ed as  he  went  along  the  street,  and  the  nurse 
began  to  lament.  At  these  mournful  sounds 
Anastasia  arose.  She  took  from  her  ivory  cof- 
fer some  small  coins,  and  ordered  the  old  wom- 
an to  carry  them  to  the  poor  prisoner.  "  I  will 
take  it,  my  dear,"  said  the  nurse,  still  gazing 
from  the  window,  not  to  lose  the  pleasure  of  the 
spectacle.  "  I  will  take  it,  even  if  Ivan  Vassi- 
lievitch trampleth  me  under  his  horse's  feet. 
Look !  there  is  our  heretic  ....  what  doth  he 
there?  ....  I  must  run,  my  child — I  must  run, 
•not  to  be  too  late  !" 

Hardly  had  the  nurse  left  the  room  ere  Anas- 
tasia looked  cautiously  from  the  window,  and 
saw  that  her  beloved  Antony  had  anticipated  her. 

In  spite  of  his  resolutions,  he  desired  to  pass 
once  more  by  Obrazetz's  house,  to  bid  farewell 
to  her  dwelling,  if  not  to  her — perhaps  for  ever. 
.In  doing  this  he  came  up  with  the  main  guard 
as  it  was  beginning  its  march,  and  caught  sight 
of  poor  Aphanasii  Nikitin,  to  whom  he  had  been 
made  known  by  Andriousha,  and  who  frequent- 
ly had  conversed  with  him  about  the  life  and 
nature  of  the  West ;  and  he  hastened  to  give 
the  prisoner's  guard  a  handful  of  silver.  Apha- 
nasii Nikitin  looked  gratefully  at  the  leech';  but 
the  constable  turned  his  back  upon  the  heretic, 
and  the  silver  was  scattered  on  the  wooden  road. 
At  this  moment  the  nurse  ran  up  and  gave  her 
mistress's  money  to  the  constable.  The  latter 
crossed  himself  and  received  it.     With  shame 


*  It  is  still  doubted  by  antiquaries  whether  this  cruel 
mode  of  confining  a  prisoner  was  actually  practised,  or 
whether  it  is  only  a  technical  expression  for  some  severe 
.Aiethod  of  chainingr  a  culprit. — T.  B.  S. 


and  mortification  Antony  rode  away.  It  may 
be  imagined  with  what  feelings  the  daughter  of 
Obrazotz  looked  upon  this  scene,  A 11 — all  turn- 
ed from  the  heretic  ;  but  she,  unhappy  girl  !  en- 
chanted by  the  powers  of  evil,  so  fondly — so  im- 
measurably loved  him ! 

Long  lay  the  scattered  money  upon  the  wood- 
en road. 


CHAPTER  XXIH. 

THE   SIEGE. 
"  Fair  and  softly  goeth  far  in  a  day." 

Old  Proverb. 
The  troops  made  very  short  marches.  They 
had  not  yet  arrived  so  far  as  Klin,  when  the  vol- 
unteers were  already  before  Tver.  These  brave 
bands  of  irregulars,  led  by  Khabar,  spread  ter- 
ror around  the  city  :  at  one  moment  they  would 
make  their  appearance  in  the  suburbs  with 
shouts  and  cries,  announcing  storm  and  sack, 
at  another  they  would  vanish  in  the  forests  of 
Tver,  leaving  no  track  of  their  march.  Khabar 
did  not  content  himself  with  having  a  private 
conference  with  those  citizens  of  Tver  who 
were  devoted  to  Ivan,  and  who  had  previously 
been  bought  over  to  his  interest ;  he  was  not 
contented  with  making  a  reconnoisance  of  the 
weak  points  in  the  enemy's  fortifications ;  he 
passed  the  Volga,  and  established  a  communica- 
tion with  the  army  which  was  advancing  from 
Novgorod,  under  the  command  of  the  lieuten- 
ant of  that  city.  Returning  to  the  right  bank 
of  the  river,  he  sent  a  message  to  the  Great 
Prince,  Ivan  Vassilievitch,  informing  him  that, 
with  his  bands  of  the  volunteers  of  Moscow,  he 
would  undertake  to  make  himself  master  of 
Tver.  He  requested  the  assistance  of  Aris- 
totle's cannon.  Thus  Khabar-Sfmskoi,  togeth- 
er with  his  comrades,  continued  to  deserve  his 
reputation  for  activity  and  military  skill. 

Ivan  Vassilievitch,  whom  in  all  justice  we 
may  call  the  delayer,  commanded  a  courier  to 
convey  his  tvord  of  favour,  first  to  Khabar,  and 
secondly  to  all  the  volunteers,  and  to  inform 
them  that  he  ivas  coming.  And  he  continued  to 
advance  in  the  same  tortoise-like  manner  as  be- 
fore. For  the  first  person  who  dared  to  mur- 
mur rather  too  loudly  against  this  dilatoriness, 
the  Great  Prince  of  Moscow  showed  his  favour 
by  building  him  an  edifiice  in  a  cross-road — an 
edifice  composed  of  two  upright  posts  and  a 
transverse  beam.  Aphanasii  Nikitin  was  pre- 
pared for  the  same  fate.  He  made  himself  ready 
to  die  with  Christian  firmness  ;  but  just  as  they 
were  about  to  tie  the  fatal  knot,  his  life  was 
i  spared,  and  he  was  permitted  to  go  about  his 
business.  Whether  this  was  done  at  the  request 
of  Ivan  the  Young,  or  from  the  private  impulse 
of  the  Great  Prince,  is  unknown.  However,  it 
may  be  easily  supposed  that  the  Tveritchanin 
wandered  away  in  the  direction  opposite  to 
Tver,  in  order  not  to  be  a  witness  of  the  ruin 
and  conflagration  of  his  native  city.  For  the 
road  he  was  well  provided  by  the  generous  gifts 
of  the  boyarins  and  common  people,  and  by  An- 
tony he  was  presented  with  a  balsam  for  his  arms, 
wounded  by  the  melted  lead  with  which  they  had 
been  fixed  together.  No  man  who  encountered 
him  ever  heard  him  utter  a  word  of  complaint, 
either  .against  the  Great  Prince  or  against  his 


92 


THE    HERETIC. 


own  fate.  Praying  both  for  the  Prince  and  for 
his  people,  but  more  fervently  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  his  native  city  from  destruction,  and 
praising  the  Lord  alone,  he  hastened  back  to 
Moscow  to  finish  his  half-told  tales. 

The  Great  Prince  of  Moscow  ordinarily  pitch- 
ed his  camp  in  large  villages.  There  halted 
with  him  Ivan  the  Young,  the  courtiers,  the 
chief  regiment  with  the  imperial  standard,  Ar- 
istotle with  the  fire-arms,  and  the  inseparable 
Tsarevitch  of  Kassi'm,  Danyar.  This  prince 
enjoyed  his  particular  love  and  favour  for  the 
fidelity  with  which  he  had  served  Russia.  In 
his  person  Ivan  wished  clearly  to  prove  how  ad- 
vantageous it  would  be  to  the  Tartars  to  pass 
over  under  the  protection  of  the  Russian  ruler. 
Already  more  than  a  week  had  passed  since  the 
troops  had  quitted  Moscow.  It  was  that  hour 
of  the  day  when  the  sun  chases  the  dew  and 
coolness  of  the  morning.  The  weather  was 
beautiful :  all  nature  seamed  to  smile,  and  im- 
ago the  arrival  of  summer;  and  the  rivulets, 
dancing  in  the  sunbeams,  all  gold  and  flame  ; 
and  the  breeze,  laden  with  fragrance  from  the 
foliage  of  the  trees  ;  and  the  billows  of  the  ed- 
dying harvest,  like  the  waving  lines  of  burnish- 
ed steal  in  the  ranks  of  charging  cavalry  ;  and 
the  choirs  of  birds  singing,  each  in  its  own  har- 
mony, the  praises  of  the  Almighty.  This  en- 
chanting smile,  this  imaging  of  nature,  melted 
even  the  iron  soul  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch.  Pass- 
ing the  rivulet  beyond  the  village  of  Tchashni- 
kofi",  he  ordered  his  tent  to  be  pitched  on  an 
elevation,  and  commanded  the  troops  to  make 
a  halt  round.  He  rode  up  the  eminence,  took 
of  his  horzn  (military  mantle),  and  dismounted 
from  his  horse.  All  this  was  performed  with 
the  assistance  of  different  officers  of  the  court  : 
the  ceremonial  was  kept  up  even  in  the  field — 
even  in  the  field  he  desired  to  appear  a  Tsar. 

"  Here  I  would  fain  build  myself  a  village,'' 
said  Ivan  Vassilievitch,  admiring  the  scene. 

And  in  reality  it  was  something  to  be  ad- 
mired. 

In  general,  it  is  to  be  remarked,  that  man, 
from  some  innate  tendency  towards  the  beau- 
ties of  nature— perhaps  a  trace  of  the  first  in- 
habitant of  the  earth — be  he  Tsar  or  peasant, 
loves  to  place  his  dwelling  in  a  beautiful  situa- 
tion. Nothing  but  necessity,  but  force,  can 
drive  him  to  the  arid  plain,  to  the  forest  neigh- 
bouring the  swamp.  In  the  sites  selected  for 
the  Russian  towns,  and  the  imperial  pleasure 
villages,  this  taste  is  particularly  observable. 
Ivan  Vassilievitch,  in  praising  the  lovely  pic- 
ture spread  before  him  by  the  great  artist,  re- 
membered his  own  villages,  Vorobievo,  Kolo- 
nuinskoye  Island,  his  VorontzolT  field,  where  he 
met  the  spring,  and  passed  the  summer  in  the 
delights  of  hawking  and  wandering  through  the 
gardens.  While  they  were  pitching  his  tent, 
he  seated  himself  on  a  folding-chair,  which  was 
always  carried  with  him.  Around  him  stood 
Ivan  the  Young,  and  several  of  the  officers  of 
his  household.  Among  them  might  be  observ- 
ed the  round-shouldered  Tartar,  who  associated 
more  familiarly  than  any  other  person  with  the 
Great  Prince.  This  was  Danyar,  Tsarevitch 
of  Kassim,  the  object  of  his  singular  favour.* 


*  In  mai 
Srrcnt  care  < 
tKt  Author. 


y  of  the  writings  of  this  (lorirxl  wo  remark  ihc 
f  DanyAr's  interKsta  exhibited  by  \vkn—yott  of 


In  front  of  them,  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  were 
running  Andriousha  and  a  lad  of  seventeen,  the 
son  of  the  Tsarevitch — Karakatcha  :  the  one,  a 
type  of  European  beauty,  with  the  stamp  of  the 
Creator's  love  for  his  creature  imprinted  on 
every  lineament ;  the  other,  narrow-eyed,  taw- 
ny, with  high  cheekbones,  and  the  serpent-like 
expression  of  one  who  had  crawled  into  the 
world  from  some  foul  thicket  of  the  tropics 
among  the  reptiles,  with  whom  he  had  mingled 
his  human  nature.  Karakatcha  had  caught  a 
dove,  and  was  preparing  to  chop  it  in  pieces 
with  his  knife  ;  Andriousha  entered  into  a 
struggle,  to  save  the  winged  prisoner  .  inferior 
to  the  Tartar  in  strength,  but  far  more  dexter- 
ous and  active,  he  succeeded  in  seizing  the 
victim  in  time  and  setting  it  at  liberty.  The 
momentary  struggle  was  succeeded  by  a  truce, 
concluded  by  the  transfer  of  a  piece  of  money^ 
which  seemed  to  give  much  pleasure  to  the 
Tartar  Tsarevitch.  Both  the  boys,  throwing 
off  the  weight  of  their  arms,  hastened  to  relieve 
themselves  of  the  -heat  which  oppressed  them, 
by  bathing  in  the  cool  waters  of  the  streamlet. 
Their  companionship  at  the  court  of  the  Great 
Prince,  whither  they  went,  as  it  were,  to  school 
every  day,  had  brought  them  together,  and 
forced  them  to  forget  the  difference  of  their 
faith  and  manners,  (Karakatcha  was  still  a  Ma- 
hometan.) 

"  Right  noble  boys  !"  said  Ivan  Vassilievitch; 
turning  to  the  Tartar  Tsarevitch  and  the  artist ; 
"  they  will  be  great  leaders  in  my  son's  time,  if 
God  doth  not  grant  me  myself  to  see  it." 

This  praise  brought  a  glow  of  satisfaction  on 
the  faces  of  the  two  fathers. 

"And  when  are  we  to  christen  thy  son  T' 
demanded  the  Great  Prince  of  the  Tsarevitch. 

"  The  hour  will  come  ;  there  is  time  enough, 
my  good  Lord  Ivan,"  answered  Danyar.  "  Thou 
thyself  dost  not  hurry,  yet  thou  dost  great 
things." 

"According  to  the  Italian  proverb,  which 
Aristotle  taught  me—'  fair  and  softly  goeth  far 
in  a  day.'  And  I  do  not  force  thee.  Thy  fa- 
ther and  thou  have  served  me  faithfully,  though 
ye  were  not  christened.  It  was  but  for  the  sal- 
vation of  his  soul  I  spake  of  christening.'^ 

"'Tis  yet  but  a  foolish  child.  But  if  in  fair 
field  he  cutteth  off  two  Tveritchanin  heads, 
then  he  will  be  a  man  ;  'twill  be  time  to  chris- 
ten him  and  find  him  a  wife." 

"  Good  !  and  I  have  a  bride  ready  for  him — 
a  rare  beauty  I  She  must  be  of  the  same  age 
as  thy  son." 

"  Who  is  she,  my  good  lord  !" 

"The  daughter  of  my  voevoda  Obrazetz." 

At  these  words  a  slight  convulsion  passed, 
over  the  lips  of  Ivan  the  Young— Antony  blush- 
ed and  turned  pale.  Ivan  Vassilievitch  re- 
marked all  this. 

"  I  will  give  my  boy  to  her,"  said  the  Tsare- 
vitch, with  evident  pleasure.  "  They  say,  she 
is  a  right  fair  damsel !  she  can  embroider  skull- 
caps ;  we  will  blacken  her  teeth— we  will  red- 
den her  nails— and  in  a  twinkling  she  will  be 
fit  for  our  prophet  Mahomet  in  Paradise." 

Ivan  Vassilievitch  laughed  heartily  at  this 
criticism. 

A  tent  was  pitched  for  the  Tsar,  and  a  guard 
placed  before  it.  Next  to  it  they  put  up  a 
church  of  linen,  (they  first  spread  the  ground 


THE    HERETIC. 


with  skins,  and  then  with  cloth,  on  which  they 
erected  the  altar ;  when  they  took  down  the 
church,  they  scorched  with  fire  the  place  on 
■which  it  had  stood  )  The  Great  Prince  retired 
into  his  tent  with  his  son  ;  and  all  the  attend- 
ants separated,  each  to  his  own  quarters.  The 
road  to  Tver  on  the  northern  side  of  the  camp 
•was  carefully  barricaded  with  iron  railings,  and 
wagons,  and  guarded  by  sentinels.  The  troops 
(there  were  only  cavalry  in  those  days)  scat- 
tered themselves  over  the  neighbouring  coun- 
try, keeping  the  Great  Prince's  tent  as  the  cen- 
tre of  the  circle  which  they  formed.  And  how 
were  the  troops  quartered  !  What  had  they  in 
the  way  of  camp,  of  cantonments  ?  They 
merely  pitched  the  tent  of  each  voevoda  ;  be- 
side it  they  placed  the  wagon  bearing  the 
standard  of  the  regiment ;  next  to  this,  like- 
wise on  wagons,  the  fire-arms,  composed  of 
matchlocks,  and  a  cannon,  if  there  happened  to 
be  one.  The  horses  were  allowed  to  range  in 
herds  over  the  meadows  or  the  sown  fields,  as 
they  might  happen  ;  the  soldiers  separated  into 
messes  around  their  voevodas,  boiled  their  cop- 
per kettles,  filled  with  a  kind  of  soup  composed 
of  biscuit  and  oatmeal ;  sang  songs,  told  stories, 
and  all  under  the  open  sky,  in  spite  of  rain  and 
snow,  frost  and  heat.  What  cared  they  for  the 
attacks  of  the  elements  !  By  nature  and  edu- 
cation they  were  hardened  as  if  locked  up  in 
steel.  The  horses,  brought  from  the  Asiatic 
steppes,  bore  as  patiently  as  their  riders  the 
hardest  weather,  and  throve  upon  the  most 
meagre  food. 

Mournful,  gloomy,  lay  Antony  in  the  tent  of 
Fioraventi  Aristotle.  At  the  time  of  setting 
out  on  the  campaign,  he  had  striven  to  silence 
the  voice  of  his  heart  in  the  occupations  of  his 
profession.  He  searched  all  the  recesses  of  the 
forest,  he  plunged  to  the  depths  of  the  ravine  ; 
he  collected  there  plants,  some  whose  medical 
properties  he  already  knew,  others  which  were 
unknown  in  southern  countries  :  the  latter  he 
was  preparing  as  a  present  to  the  place  of  his 
education.  Did  he  halt  in  a  village!  there, 
with  the  assistance  of  his  servant,  he  made  en- 
quiries for  witches  and  wise  women,  who  often 
possessed,  as  he  had  heard  from  Aj-istotle,  med- 

.  ical  secrets,  handed  down  from  generation  to 
generation.  Some  of  these  secrets  he  succeed- 
ed in  obtaining,  with  the  aid  of  the  terrible 
powder  of  the  Great  Prince,  or  the  force  of 
gold.     Thus,  by  returning  to  his  learned  occu- 

.  pations,  he  had  placed,  he  thought,  a  strong  and 
insurmountable  barrier  between  himself  and 
Anastasia,  whose  image  still  frequently  pursued 
him.  Obrazetz's  prejudices,  his  aversion  to 
him,  his  education,  his  country,  his  religion — a 
multitude  of  other  obstacles  which  swarmed 
around  him  at  the  first  thought  of  a  union  with 
her,  came  to  the  aid  of  science  and  reason,  in- 
ducing him  to  stifle  the  feeling  which  had  mas- 
tered him.  But  when  Antony  heard  the  name 
of  Anastasia  from  the  lips  of  an  unbelieving 
Mahometan — that  name  which  he  pronounced 
with  reverent  love  in  the  sanctuary  of  his  heart 

that  name  which  was  united  with  all  that 

Avas  most  beautiful  in  earth  and  heaven  ;  when 
he  heard  that  Anastasia  was  to  be  given  to  a 
misbegotten  Tartar — she  whom  he  thought  no 
one  had  a  right  to  possess  but  himself  and 
God — then  his  bloood  rushed  backward  to  his 


heart,  and  he  was  terrified  by  the  idea  of  her 
belonging  to  another.  Never  yet  had  this 
thought  presented  itself  to  his  mind  in  so  dread- 
ful a  shape.  Like  some  passionate  lover  of  art 
who  goes  day  by  day  to  a  picture-gallery  to 
worship  one  particular  Madonna,  and  who  sud- 
denly finds  that  it  is  about  to  be  brought  to  the 
hammer  ;  and  now  the  immortal  one  is  chaffer- 
ed for  by  pedlars — worldly  wretches,  contempt- 
ible shopkeepers,  Jews,  are  appraising  its  mer- 
its— dare  even  to  discover  faults  !  The  ama- 
teur would  give  for  it  all  that  he  possesses — 
would  give  himself;  but  he  has  too  little,  he  is 
too  poor,  he  cannot  offer  a  price,  and  the  divine 
work  must  belong  to  another.  In  his  soul  al- 
ready resounds  the  cry  of  the  auctioneer — 
"going,  going  !" — with  a  sinking  heart  he  sees 
the  fatal  hammer  rise  ...  In  such  a  condition 
was  Antony. 

And  wherefore  did  he  love  Anastasia?  .... 
He  had  never  so  much  as  spoken  to  her;  and 
to  create  so  ardent  aid  profound  a  passion  as 
that  he  felt,  small  is  the  power  of  mere  exter- 
nal loveliness.  Small,  indeed  ;  but  in  her  eyes 
he  beheld  what  the  worshipper  of  art  beheld  in 
his  Madonna — the  loveliness  of  the  soul ;  some- 
thing indescribable,  unintelligible  ;  perhaps  his 
own  past  existence  in  another  world,  a  world 
before  this  earth  ;  perhaps  his  future,  his  sec- 
ond, / — the  personality  with  which  he  would 
form  one  in  those  mansions,  many  of  which  the 
Son  of  God  has  made  ready  in  his  Father's 
house.  Could  he  break  up  this  union,  those 
spousals  of  two  spirits  1  could  he  give  up  to  an- 
other his  second  /  to  worldly  insult  1  No,  that 
must  never  be. 

Aristotle,  with  a  father's  eye,  remarked  the 
swift  flush  and  the  unusual  paleness  of  Antony's 
face,  which  betrayed  the  secret  of  his  heart, 
when  the  Great  Prince  mentioned  the  boyarin's 
daughter,  and  he  saw  how  some  immeasurable 
grief  was  devouring  him.  Rendered  anxious 
by  what  he  beheld,  he  endeavoured  to  engage 
the  attention  of  his  young  friend,  and  began  to 
discuss  with  him  the  character  of  Ivan. 

"Yes,"  said  the  artist  engineer,  "'qui  va 
piano  va  sano:'  this  national  proverb  I  transla- 
ted for  the  Great  Prince  into  the  Russiaa 
tongue.  Ivan  was  right  well  pleased  with  it, 
and  no  wonder;  'tis  a  precept  to  which  he 
oweth  all  his  successes.  And  therefore  I  in- 
tend to  adopt  it  as  a  motto  for  the  medals  of 
the  great  founder  of  Russia." 

"i3ut  doth  he  not  abuse  this  cautious  slow- 
ness!" exclaimed  Antony,  challenged  to  the 
lists  of  argument,  from  which  his  heart  was  far 
away.  "Thou  toldest  me  that  Ivan,  by  his 
crafty  policy,  had  previously  prepared  every 
thing  for  the  destruction  of  Tver.  It  seemeth 
to  me,  to  judge  by  circumstances,  that  he  hath 
but  to  menace  it  with  the  terror  of  his  name 
and  army,  in  order  to  attain  the  object  for  which 
he  is  now  losing  time." 

"  As  far  as  I  understand  his  intentions,  Ivan 
is  desirous  that  the  Great  Prince  of  Tver  should 
fly  from  his  capital,  leaving  his  city  a  safe  and 
uncontested  spoil.  The  latter  is  expecting  aid 
from  Lithuania,  and  thinks  that  Novgorod,  so 
recently  subdued,  will  not  send  Ivan  its  army. 
The  Russian  Tsar  knows  for  a  certainty,  that 
Tver  will  obtain  no  aid  from  any  quarter :  in 
his  iron  will  he  hath  commanded  Novgorod  to 


THE    HERETIC. 


march  against  the  enemy,  and,  obedient  to  that 
will,  Novgorod's  army  already  stands  before  the 
walls  of  the  monastery  of  the  Three  Children. 
Perhaps  the  Great  Prince,  as  thou  sayest,  hath 
in  reality  calculated  too  cautiously  : — I  will  not 
dispute  ;  he  was  born,  not  a  warrior,  but  a  pol- 
itician. A  slow,  and  I  may  add,  penetrating 
policy  hath  always  triumphed  with  him  ;  ail  his 
successes  have  arisen  from  his  knowing  how 
to  await  the  moment  most  advantageous  to  him- 
self. Apparently,  even  now,  he  dreads,  or, 
rather,  is  unwilling  to  exchange  for  new,  un- 
tried arms,  that  old  trusty  weapon  which  hath 
never  failed  him.  It  was  well  said  by  Stephen, 
hospodar  of  Moldavia— 'I  wonder  at  my  cousin: 
he  stayeth  at  home,  making  good  cheer  and 
sleeping  quietly,  and  nevertheless  defeateth  his 
enemies.  I  am  always  on  horseback  and  in  the 
field,  and  yet  cannot  manage  to  protect  my  own 
country  '  Yes,  Iviin  doth  not  bustle  to  and  fro, 
doth  not  prance  unceasingly  on  a  war-horse ; 
he  dotli  not  brag  of  his  conquests  and  projects, 
but  silently,  in  secret,  he  prepareth  great  ac- 
tions, the  execution  of  which  astonisheth  other 
sovereigns.  'Luck,  good  fortune!'  cry  his  ill- 
wishers  and  they  who  envy  him.  Luck  !  .  .  .  . 
Luck  may,  indeed,  once  or  twice,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  genius,  crown  him  who  plays  his  part 
on  an  imperial  stage,  be  he  general,  counsellor, 
or  king  ;  but  bitterly  will  that  man  be  punished, 
who  trusts  to  luck  alone  without  other  great 
qualities  :  No  !  almost  all  Ivan's  successes  may 
be  attributed  to  the  strength  of  his  intellect,  the 
firmness  of  his  will,  an  active  and  penetrating 
mind,  the  art  of  preparing  and  profiting  by  cir- 
cumstances. History  will  doubtless  place  him 
among  the  small  number  of  great  actors  who 
have  changed  the  destiny  of  kingdoms,  and 
built  up  an  edifice  to  last  for  many  ages.  The 
name  of  the  founder  of  Russia  will  assuredly 
belong  to  Ivan.  And  were  it  not  for  the  cruel- 
ty of  his  character,  a  fault  born  with  him,  and 
strengthened  by  education  and  local  circum- 
stances, we  might  well  be  proud  of  the  -happi- 
ness of  serving  him.  It  is  not  for  us,  weak 
mortals,  to  prophesy  his  future ;  old  age,  peevish 
and  infirm,  usually  injures  the  powers  of  the  i^i- 
tellect,  and  confirms  the«-evil  propensities.  But, 
however  that  may  be,  Russia  must  never  pro- 
nounce the  na«ie  of  Ivan,  after  all  he  hath  done 
for  her,  but  with  veneration.  If  thou  wouldst 
seek  for  spots  in  his  reign— and  from  them  the 
weakness  of  man  permits  not  any  ruler  to  be 
exempt— stern  truth  will  point  to  one,  and  that 
no  slight  one.  This  stain  is  not  to  be  wiped 
out  by  the  eager  justification  of  those  who  are 
devoted  to  him  ;  it  is  not  to  be  smoothed  away 
by  the  persevering  sophistries  of  future  reason- 
ers,  and  the  vain  powers  of  their  eloquence. 
Ye  cannot  make  black  white." 

Carried  away  by  curiosity,  .\ntony  requested 
the  artist  to  explain  what  was  the  charge  on 
which  stern  truth  might  summon  Ivan  before 
the  judgment-scat  of  posterity,  .\ristolle  hast- 
ened to  .satisfy  his  desire.  "What  were  the 
Mongul  hordes  to  Russia  !"  recommenced  Aris- 
t(rtle.  "  .\  curso  of  two  centuries  long,  which 
lay  upon  this  unhappy  country  in  all  the  weight 
of  its  oppression.  The  P^ast,  overflowing  with 
population,  was  ready  to  pour  in,  with  that  pop-  . 
Illation,  the  elements  of  barbarism,  whithcrso-J 
ever  accident  might  direct  the  flood.     The  an-  [ 


gels  of  God  hastened  to  make  Russia  a  bulwark 
to  the  West,  where  the  flower  of  civilization 
was  just  bursting  into  bloom,  and  whither  the 
conquerors  were  attracted  by  the  hope  of  rich 
plunder  ;  and  thus  Russia  became  an  unfortu- 
nate sacrifice  for  the  safety  of  the  other  nations. 
When  her  destiny  was  fulfilled.  Providence 
granted  her,  even  before  the  reign  of  Ivan,  a 
period  of  breathing-time.  To  Ivan  was  left  the 
glory  of  liberating  his  country  from  the  yoke 
that  for  two  centuries  had  oppressed  it.  Thus 
it  was  : — Akhmet,  Tsar  of  the  Golden  Horde, 
appeared  in  Russia  with  a  numerous  army. 
.\ccording  to  his  custom,  the  Great  Prince  did 
not  slumber.  In  the  well-stored  treasury  of 
his  intellect  and  his  will,  he  found  means  by 
which  he  might  be  certain  to  repulse  his  terri- 
ble foe,  and  these  means  he  prepared  as  well 
as  possible.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  people,  its 
confidence  of  victory,  the  valour  and  power  of 
the  army,  the  unskilful  calculations  of  Ivan's 
enemies,  the  mistakes  of  Akhmet  himself,  all 
united  to  answer  for  the  triumph  of  Russia. 
And  what  was  the  result  ?  When  the  fatal 
hour  arrived  to  strike  the  blow,  when  Akhmet 
himself  evidently  vacillated  whether  he  should 
attack  or  defend  himself,  Ivan's  heart  failed 
him — yes,  his  heart  failed  him,  that  is  the  right 
word — he  began  to  delay,  to  procrastinate,  to 
defer  the  attack.  Yes,  the  decisive  hour  had 
arrived,  the  hour  that  must  decide  whether  he 
was  to  lose  the  fruits  of  the  triumphs  won  by 
intellect,  or  whether  he  was  to  enjoy  them — 
whether  Russia  was  to  be  free  or  not  ;  and  it 
is  precisely  in  such  moments  that  we  recognize 
the  greatness  of  a  sovereign.  At  a  moment 
when  he  would  have  been  his  own  best  coun- 
sellor in  pursuing  great  measures,  when  those 
measures  were  successfully,  assuredly  prepar- 
ed, he  left  the  army  and  came  to  Moscow,  un- 
der the  pretext  of  taking  counsel  with  his  moth- 
er, with  the  clergy,  with  the  boyarins.  His 
mother,  the  clergy,  a  majority  of  the  boyarins, 
the  voice  of  God,  the  voice  of  the  nation,  all 
urged  him  to  fight  the  enemy.  He  did  not  lis- 
ten to  those  whose  counsel  he  had  come  to  ask, 
but  he  did  listen  to  the  base  courtiers,  who 
knew  how  to  profit  by  the  weakness  of  their 
master  ;  their  underhand  counsels  flattered  his 
failing  courage.  Instead  of  confirming  the  peo- 
ple in  their  heart  and  hope,  he  only  alarmed 
them  by  his  indecision,  and  by  marked  precau- 
tions to  put  his  own  family  out  of  danger.  The 
enemy  was  still  far  off;  what  had  he  to  fear  as 
to  his  family  !  When  a  king  goes  to  defend  his 
people's  rights  and  honour  in  the  field,  the 
queen  must  remain  with  the  nation  as  a  pledge 
of  its  security — at  least  until  the  last  extrem- 
ity, if  she  hath  not  heart  enough  to  die  with 
the  honour  of  that  people  Ivan,  on  the  con- 
trary, hastened  in  good  time  to  remove  Sophia 
and  his  children  from  Moscow,  far  away  into 
the  northern  provinces.  A  strange  policy,  il 
he  wished  to  tranciuillize  the  nation  ! . . . .  There 
remained  in  the  capital,  in  the  Monastery  of 
the  Ascension,  the  Great  Prince's  mother,  a 
feeble  old  woman,  and  this  head,  already  de- 
clining to  the  grave,  served  the  nation  as  a 
pledge  of  security :  in  it  was  centred  all  the 
hope  and  confidence  of  Moscow.  What  would 
that  confidence  not  have  been,  if  Sophia  had 
remained  1  .  .  .  .  The  nation  expected  that  the 


THE    HERETIC. 


95 


Great  Prince,  after  the  example  of  Donsk6i, 
would  hasten  to  the  army  ;  but  all  he  did  was 
to  burn  the  suburbs,  intimating  to  the  people 
by  this  melancholy  precaution,  that  he  would 
await  the  enemy  in  Moscow.  His  presence 
with  the  army,  which  was  impatiently  expect- 
ing to  see  him  at  its  head,  would  have  been  the 
best  assurance  of  victory.  Instead,  however, 
of  hastening  to  the  troops,  he  summoned  to 
himself— again  to  counsel !— the  leaders  of  the 
army,  his  son  Ivan,  and  the  Prince  Kh61mskii. 
And  at  what  a  time  1  When  the  latter,  by  his 
intellect,  his  valour,  his  experience,  and  by  his 
glorious  title  of  conqueror  of  Novgorod,  was 
the  chief  strength  of  the  army  ;  when  the  for- 
mer, beloved  of  Russia,  was  its  soul.  To  leave 
their  comrades  at  that  fatal,  that  decisive  hour, 
would  have  seemed  to  them  a  dreadful  sin,  for 
which  they  would  have  to  answer  before  God, 
and  both  of  them  did  their  duty  ;  both  disobey- 
ed the  command  of  Ivan.  The  Great  Prince's 
flatterers  blamed  them  ;  but  Ivan  himself  better 
understood  their  noble  conduct  and  his  own  er- 
ror— he  never  made  them  answer  for  their  dis- 
obedience, and  never  punished  them  for  it.  At 
last  he  joined  the  army,  and  there  he  took  care 
to  remain  far  from  the  place  of  action.  He  be- 
gan again  to  procrastinate — for  what^  Was  it 
that  the  spirit  of  his  army  should  be  chilled  by 
inaction,  that  it  should  lose  its  courage  and  hes- 
itate ?  The  army  fled  at  ihe  first  movement  of 
Akhmet.  But  Providence  was  on  the  side  of 
Russia.  Akhmet,  thinking  that  the  cunning 
Ivan  was  leading  him  into  an  ambuscade,  him- 
self fled  ;  and  when  informed  of  the  destruction 
of  his  own  camp  by  the  Tartars,  left  Russia 
altogether,  in  order  to  protect  his  territories. 
An(l  this  gond  fortune,  this  providential  interfer- 
ence, Ivan's  counsellors  attributed  to  his  fore- 
sight, to  his  refined,  to  his  treble  refined  calcu- 
lations. But  words  prove  nothing  if  they  are 
contradicted  by  facts.  The  people  with  more 
justice  glorified  only  the  mercy  of  God.  '  It  was 
not  arms  and  the  wisdom  of  man  that  saved  us, 
but  the  Lord  of  Heaven !'  said  the  people,  fol- 
lowing their  spiritual  pastors,  and  it  spoke  the 
truth.  History  is  not  panegyric,  and  history 
will  say  the  same.  I  relate  this  to  thee,  not  to 
cloud  the  greatness  of  Ivan  :  he  is  the  builder 
up  of  his  kingdom,  and,  in  spite  of  this  grievous 
error,  will  be  always  great  in  the  eyes  of  his 
contemporaries  and  of  posterity."* 

"  Well,  hast  thou  done  with  Akhmet  1"  en- 
quired some  one  in  a  sharp  voice,  shaking  the 
curtain  of  the  tent. 

Aristotle,  in  spite  of  himself,  shuddered  and 
felt  confused.  It  was  the  voice  of  the  Great 
Prince. 

The  curtains  of  the  tent  opened,  and  Ivan, 
showing  between  them  his  countenance,  con- 
tracted by  an  ironic  smile,  continued — "  I  have 
been  here  a  good  while,  but  all  I  have  heard  of 
thy  tale  is,  '  Ivan  and  Akhmet,  then  Sophia,  and 
then  again  Akhmet  and  Ivan.'  Art  thou  not 
pleasant  on  some  of  my  old  sinsi  ....  I  will 
i!0t  conceal  it ;  there  was  a  time  when  I  vacil- 
lated, hesitated,  I  know  not  how  myself.     Who 


*  It  is  not,  perhaps,  the  duty  of  a  novelist,  to  indulge  in 
n  digression  respecting  Ivan's  great  fault.  In  justification 
I  may  allege  my  desire  to  offer  a  tribute  to  Truth,  which 
guided  the  pen  of  Karamzin  ic  his  description  of  IvAiis  error  ; 
an  error  defended  by  M.  Polevoi  without  any  hisloriciil  or 
logical  proofs. — Note  of  the  Author. 


would  believe  that  now  !  ....  To  speak  true, 
there  was  something  to  be  afraid  of!  In  one 
hour  I  might  have  lost  all  that  I  had  taken  years 
to  arrange,  and  what  I  had  projected  for  Russia 
to  last  for  ages.  The  Lord  delivered  me.  But 
....  as  our  proverb  saith — '  he  that  bringeth 
up  old  times,  out  with  his  eyes.'  Do  me  justice 
in  this  matter  to  the  German.  Good  rest  to 
thee,  Aristotle  !"  With  these  words  Ivan  Vas- 
si'lievitch  let  down  the  curtain  and  disappeared, 
leaving  the  two  friends  in  no  small  embarrass- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    UNEXPECTED    ESCORT. 
"  Lo,  I  bring,  I  bring  to  th6e.  svat,  a  gift, 

'Tis  a  c6ffer  of  gold  with  f6rged  arrows  st6red,. 
And  a  c6mb,  a  wondrous  c6mb,  d6ul)le-toothed. 
To  equip  a  gallant,  like  a  mirror  it  shines. 
With  the  first  fair  gift  the  h6art  I  will  c6mfort, 
With  the  second  fair  gift  I  will  lav  thee  to  r6st." 
Old  Song. 

The  army  of  Ivan  inundated  the  environs  of 
Tver  for  a  distance  of  some  dozens  of  versts. 
Its  arrival  was  announced  by  a  discharge  of  the 
gigantic  cannon — one  single  discharge  ;  but  one 
which  carried  consternation  to  the  houses  and 
hearts  of  the  people  of  Tver.  The  silence  which 
succeeded  was  yet  more  terrible  ;  it  was  like 
the  momentary  breathing-time  which  nature 
grants  to  the  wretch  who  is  lying  on  his  death- 
bed. Night  shrouded  the  city  and  its  surround- 
ing country  with  her  gloom,  but  soon  the  latter 
sparkled  with  a  thousand  watch-fires,  like  the 
rich  pall  of  velvet  which  they  prepare  for  the 
illustrious  dead.  What  did  Tver  during  this 
night  ]  What  doth  the  unhappy  woman  who  is 
preparing  herself  for  widowhood,  who  is  una- 
ble to  snatch  her  beloved,  her  darling,  from  the 
almighty  foe  1  What  doth  she  but  sob  and  beat 
her  breast  ! 

The  morning  of  the  following  day  lighted  up 
the  hundred  cantonments  of  the  Muscovites  ; 
and  the  endless  colonnade  of  smoke  which  arose 
along  the  plain.     The  monster-cannon  opened 
in  front  its  huge  throat ;  suddenly,  at  the  first 
ray  of  the  sun,  it  seemed  to  yawn,  and  its  awake- 
ning re-echoed  through  the  suburbsof  Tver  ;  it 
shattered  a  number  of  huts,  and  crushed  in  one 
of  them  a  whole  family  at  once.     Immediately 
after  the  giant,  awoke  its  fierce  children,  and 
thundered  out  in  their  own  language — "Wait 
awhile,  Tver,  we  will  give  thee  sorrow  if  thou 
doest  not  behave  thyself."     Thus,  at  least,  were 
the  sounds  interpreted  by  the  men  of  Tver,  who 
ventured  to  look  out  from  the  farthest  fortifica- 
tion on  the  camp  of  the  enemy.     They  saw  the 
German  cannoniers  fixing  the  matchlocks  on 
their  carriages  and  iron  limbers  ;  the  soldiers 
weaving  hurdles  for  the  siege  out  of  brushwood, 
and  covering  them  with  melted  pitch ;  detach- 
I  ments  armed  with  bows,  swords,  and  pikes,  en- 
circling Tver  in  a  curved  line  oti   the  Moscow 
side.     They  saw  all  this,  and  spread  througlv 
all  the  houses  the  terrible  news.     "  Tver  is  no 
more,"  they  cried  through  the  streets  ;    "  the 
\  harvest  is  ripe,  the   reapers   are  ready."     A 
}  black  raven  at  the  same  moment  proclaimed 
1  death  to  the  city  from  the  cross  of  the  golden- 
I  domed  cathedral  of  our  Saviour,  and  from  the 
1  ridge  of  the  Great  Prince's  palace.     Not  leas 


96 


THE    HERETIC. 


bodinglj-,  the  princes  and  boyarins,  the  secret 
partisans  of  Ivan  Vassflievitch,  scattered  them- 
selves among  the  people  and  defenders  of  Tver, 
■whispering  the  impossibility  of  opposing  the 
force  of  the  Prince  of  Moscow.  "  Let  him," 
they  said,  "  make  in  his  wrath  one  blow  with 
his  mighty  arm,  and  he  levelleth  his  foe  to  the 
earth  ;  when  he  ovcrflowelh  with  mercy,  he  is 
as  the  sun  after  rain."  The  day  arrived,  and 
they  appeared  before  the  Great  Prince  of  Mos- 
cow with  offers  of  submission. 

Tver  was  already  subdued  without  a  conflict 
But  its  Great  Prince,  Mikhail  Borisovitch,  and 
the  boyarins  who  remained  faithful  to  him,  de- 
termined still  to  defend  themselves.  They  re- 
tired with  their  troops  to  the  citadel,  which  was 
■washed  on  the  one  side  by  the  Volga,  on  the 
other  by  the  Tmaka ;  the  gates  were  shut,  the 
towers  bristled  with  arquebuses,  the  battlements 
were  lined  with  warriors,  armed,  with  melted 
pitch,  with  stones,  with  arrows.  Both  the  for- 
tresses and  its  defenders  were  prepared  to  give 
the  besiegers  a  bloody  reception.  A  poor  de- 
fence, when  hope  had  departed  from  the  de- 
fenders, and  treason  was  whispering  in  their 
hearts  the  fatal  word  of  ruin  ! 

Ivan  Vassilievitch  halted  in  the  village  of 
Koltzova,  from  whence  he  could  see  Tver,  as  it 
■were  in  a  picture.  Khabar  presented  himself 
before  him  to  ask  for  orders.  He  knew  that 
Mikhail  Borisovitch,  trembling  for  his  own  se- 
curity, and  still  more  for  his  young  wife,  grand- 
daughter of  the  Polish  king,  Kazimir,  was  pre- 
paring on  the  following  night  to  escape  from  the 
citadel.  Khabar  promised  to  seize  him,  and 
offered  his  own  head  as  a  gage  of  his  success. 

"  What  should  I  do  with  them  ?"  asked  Ivan 
Vassilievitch:  "the  maintenance  of  my  pris- 
oners is  very  chargeable.  Let  them  fly  to  Li- 
thuania ;  traitors  to  Russia  will  still  be  traitors. 
A  slice  cut  off  thou  canst  not  join  again  to  the 
loaf  by  force.  Let  Mikhail  Borisovitch  go 
•where  he  will,  that  Kazimir  may  know  that  his 
friend  and  cousin  of  Tver  is  not  formidable  to 
me.  Tver,  even  without  a  hostage,  is  mine— 
I  have  her  safe." 

And  on  this  occasion  his  calculations  were 
correct.  In  a  private  conference  he  spoke  fur- 
ther to  Khabar  ;  but  that  conference  remained 
a  secret. 

Khabar  had  friends  in  every  cantonment. 
Many  and  strange  were  the  tales  he  told  them 
about  Tver.  "  With  one  ear  I  dipped  in,  with 
the  other  I  dipped  out,"  he  said,  "and  I  suc- 
ceeded in  making  an  obeisance  in  the  Church 
of  the  gold-domed  Saviour.  The  gallants  of  Tver 
had  bought  and  sold  my  head  ;  but  I  said  to 
them — '  Don't  hurry  yourselves  my  lads,  don't 
fatigue  yourselves  in  vain  ;  I  am  sorry  for  ye  ; 
even  as  it  is  ye  begin  to  grow  lean  ;  this  hot- 
brained  pate  of  mine  is  sold  to  the  golden  cupo- 
la of  Moscow  :  She  cannot  let  ye  have  it  cheap  :  ! 
yc  cannot  afford  to  give  the  price.'  "  1 

"  Now,  then,  tell  us,  didst  thou  make  love  to 
many  of  the  pretty  girls  of  Tver?  Didst  thou 
Toll  out  many  a  barrel  from  the  boyarin's  cel- 
lars!" enquired  the  wild  gallants  of  Moscow. 

"I  made  love  only  to  one  pretty  girl,  to  a 
thought  of  reforming,"  answered  Khabar."  She 
•whispered  a  word  of  love  in  my  ear,  and  ordered 
me  to  tell  ye — '  We  are  all  kin,  brothers,  to  our 
holy  Russia ;  we  shall  soon  be  united  to  Ivan 


Vassilievitch  I  will  come  to  ye,  my  brethren, 
and  I  will  fall  down  at  your  feet ;  take  me,  my 
friends,  into  your  family.  I  will  show  ye  my 
white  bosom  ;  sow  it  with  a  little  seed,  with  a 
kind  word,  and  it  shall  spring  up  into  a  stately 
tree.  If  ye  take  off  the  head,  weep  not  for  the 
hair  ;  be  merciful,  and  I  will  be  for  ever  your 
slave  and  sister.'  " 

"  Let  the  bell-ringer  ring  to  mass  !  But  we 
are  not  going  to  play  the  priest,  my  boys !"  ex- 
claimed Khabiir-Simskoi's  former  comrades. 
"  Will  they  like  us 

m        '  With  fire  and  smoke  to  c«nse  them  straight, 
m  Or  with  Kisteu*  to  cross  their  pate  V 

Thou  art  a  leader  of  the  war,  and  not  a  hermit, 
good  Khabar.  Thou  hast  found  this  fit  of  pie- 
ty, like  a  cast-off  gown,  in  some  cell  or  other, 
and  thou  wilt  wear  it  o'  festival  days ;  it  doth 
not  fit  thee — it  was  not  made  for  thee,  boy : 
hark  .'—'tis  gone  ! — and  even  its  track  hath  van- 
ished !  Thy  natural  and  gallant  disposition  is 
like  the  careering  of  the  wild  breeze  over  the 
plain — or  the  hawk  that  flaps  her  wings  amain  : 
that  belongs  to  thee,  as  the  shore  to  the  sea. 

'  Or  maiden  or  widow  so  fine,  is  the  damsel  I  joy  to  cal' 

mine  ; 
A  kiss  on  AerUp  so  divine — or,  it  sparkles  and  glows  like  the 

wine  ; 
But  the  other's  lip  hideth  a  thorn,  that  sorrowful  mistress 

uf  thine  I' 

Give  a  glance  at  the  bright  sparkling  bovpl,  and 
sorrow  hath  fled  from  thy  soul.  Thou,  Kha- 
bar, art  Ivan  Vassilievitch's  voevoda  when  be- 
striding the  fiery  steed  ;  but  thou  art  ours  when 
thou  art  stretched  out  under  the  bench,  at  the 
board  of  the  bright  sunny  mead." 

Thus  the  gallants  exchanged  jests  after  the 
Russian  fashion.  Barrels  of  mead,  the  plunder 
of  some  boyarin's  cellar  in  the  neighbourhood, 
were  temptingly  abundant  through  the  camp, 
and  looked  very  affectionately  at  Khabar ;  the 
talk  of  his  companions  lighted  up  in  his  heart 
his  former  thirst  for  pleasure.  But  he  remem- 
bered his  promise  to  his  father,  his  duty,  and 
thanked  his  friends  in  a  single  goblet.  From 
them  he  proceeded  to  Aristotle's  tent.  He  had 
occasion  to  consult  with  him  about  the  illumi- 
nation which  was  to  take  place  at  night.  His 
lively  description  of  the  gay  and  joyous  life  of 
the  tolxniUcrs,  inflamed  the  imagination  of  the 
leech  and  Andriousha  ;  both  entreated  the  young 
voev6da  to  take  them  with  him  on  a  night  expe- 
dition. Khabar  had  not  forgotten  the  leech's 
services  at  the  court  of  Palseologos,  and  loved 
him  in  spite  of  himself,  notwithstanding  his  be- 
ing a  heretic.  In  the  goodness  of  his  heart, 
Obrazetz's  son  was  ready  to  serve  him  to  the 
utmost  of  his  power.  He  consented  to  take 
them  intohis  band  ;  on  the  condition,  however, 
that  Antony  should  wear  the  dress  of  the  Rus- 
sians, and  hav6  his  hair  cut  after  their  fashion. 
This  request  flattered  Antony's  heart:  «*<  would 
hear  of  this  transformation,  she  would  see  him 
in  the  Russian  dress,  thought  the  young  man,  a 
child  in  heart—and  he  himself  offered  the  scis- 
sors to  Khabar.  Down  fell  the  ringlets  of  his 
bright  and  flowing  locks  at  the  feet  of  the  voe- 
voda ;  in  a  few  seconds  the  German  leech  was 
metamorphosed  into  a  handsome  Russian  gal- 

*  Kinten,  n  weapon  much  used  by  the  ancient  Russians. 
It  consisted  of  a  l»ll  of  iron,  (sometimes  spiked,)  attached 
to  a  short  rope  or  thong. — T.  B.  S. 


THE   HERETIC. 


97 


"lant.  An  equipment  was  soon  found  ;  helmet, 
cuirass,  and  broadsword.  The  military  trap- 
pings became  him  as  well  as  if  he  had  worn 
ihem  from  his  infancy  ;  it  was  evident  that  he 
■was  born  for  the  profession  of  arms,  and  that 
destiny  had  erred  in  devoting  him  to  another 
calling. 

"  Thou  takest  with  thee  both  my  sons," 
said  the  engineer  to  Khabdr,  when  he  commu- 
nicated the  Great  Prince's  permission  to  the 
children  to  volunteer;  "  look  that  thou  keepest 
Ihem  like  thine  own  brethren." 

When  he  bade  them  farewelll,  he  presented 
each  of  them  with  a  number  of  iron  balls  filled 
Avith  gunpowder — as  many  as  they  could  take, 
explaining  the  method  of  preserving  and  employ- 
ing them.  He  had  only  just  invented  them, 
and  called  them  playthings.  These  balls  were 
destined  to  play  a  terrible  part  in  the  imagina- 
tion of  our  ancestors,  who  beheld  the  devil  in 
all  kinds  of  instruments  which  exceeded  their 
comprehension  ;  by  comparing  them  with  the 
grenades  of  our  own  times,  we  may  form  some 
idea  of  the  tremendous  effects  attributed  to 
them. 

Whoever  has  visited  the  Zeltikoff  monastery, 
l)y  the  road  which  runs  along  the  Tmaka,  must 
have  doubtless  stopped  more  than  once  to  ad- 
mire the  picturesque  windings  of  the  river.  The 
traveller  is  not  struck  here  by  wild,  grand  views, 
recalling  the  poetic  confusion  of  the  elements 
in  some  dreadful  confusion  of  the  world  ;  he 
Avill  find  here  no  huge  rocks — those  steps  by 
which  the  Titans  marched  to  the  conflict  with 
Jieaven,  and  from  which  they  fell,  casting  away 
in  the  unequal  fight  fragments  of  their  arms, 
■which  even  yet  terrify  the  imagination  :  he  will 
not  behold  here  traces  of  the  deluge,  hardened 
us  when  it  rushed  from  the  bowels  of  the  earlh  ; 
the  secular  oak,  that  Ossian  of  the  forest,  chant- 
ing, in  the  hour  of  the  tempest,  the  victory  of 
•heaven  over  earth  ;  he  will  not  hear  the  bellow- 
ing of  the  cataract,  thundering  from  afar,  that 
eternal  echo  of  those  blaspheming  shouts  which 
clove  the  ear  of  nature,  in  the  wrestling  of  cre- 
ation with  its  Maker.  No,  he  will  not  be  struck 
here  with  this  wild  and  sublime  picture.  A 
modest  rivulet,  as  if  not  daring  to  sport ;  the 
calm  ripple  of  its  waters,  the  subdued  clatter  of 
a  mill ;  banks  which,  after  leaving  the  road  for 
a  while,  soon  return  to  it,  and  then  wind  away 
from  it  again  ;  a  meadow  stretching  away  into 
thickets  ;  a  dark  pine  forest,  now  sighing  like 
a  hermit  after  heaven,  now  murmuring  as  it 
Avere  a  prayer  to  itsel.f,  now  chanting  a  low 
sweet  melody,  like  a  psalmist  in  profound 
thought,  who  runs  over  the  golden  strings  of 
liis  dulcimer ;  in  front  two  monasteries,  around 
deep  loneliness— all  along  his  path  reminds  him 
tiiat  he  is  going  towards  a  religious  habitation. 

It  was  exactly  here,  close  to  the  road  which 
leads  along  the  rivulet  of  Tmaka,  that  there 
stood,  at  the  time  of  which  we  write,  a  small 
mill,  (on  the  very  same  spot  where  there  is  one 
at  this  day.)  'i'he  wheels  were  silent.  The 
Tveritchanins  and  common  people  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, occupied  with  the  agitations  of  war, 
■were  not  busy  in  their  daily  labour — it  was  no 
time  to  grind  flour  when  the  fate  of  the  whole 
land  was  hanging  in  the  scales  of  destiny.  It 
was  eventide,  and,  therefore,  the  sole  inhabi- 
tants of  the  miller's  cottage,  its  master,  a  white- 
G 


j  headed  old  man,  and  a  boy  of  twelve  years  old, 
;  his  adopted  son,  a  dumb  child,  had  lain  down  to 
I  rest.  The  stillness  of  their  solitude  was  only 
j  broken  by  the  prattle  of  th^ivulet,  which,  as  if 
complaining  of  its  confinement,  wept  here  and  ' 
there  through  the  mill-race.  Suddenly  the  boy 
started  up  to  listen,  waved  his  hand,  and  utter- 
ed an  inarticulate  cry.  The  dumb  boy's  hear- 
ing was  extraordinarily  acute  ;  his  plaintive  cry 
always  gave  faithful  intelligence  of  the  approach 
of  a  visitor  or  passer-by.  And  now  this  pre- 
diction, inducing  the  old  man  to  look  out  of  the 
window,  was  speedily  confirmed.  The  noise 
of  horsemen  was  heard.  The  miller  lighted  a 
splinter  of  pine,  and  its  glare,  falling  from  the 
window  on  the  left  bank  of  the  rivulet,  fitfully 
illuminated  a  crowd  of  cavaliers.  One  of  them 
dismounted  from  his  horse,  and  requested  the 
miller  in  a  subdued  voice,  as  not  daring  to  make 
himself  heard  too  loudly,  to  show  him  the  road 
across  the  mill-dam.  The  request  was  obeyed 
without  hesitation,  and  the  horsemen,  of  whom 
the  miller  counted  about  a  hundred,  passed  over 
the  mill-dam,  and  spread  themselves  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Tmaka.  Marshes,  and  the 
ditches  which  had  been  dug  between  them,  pro- 
tected the  troop  from  any  enemy's  attack.  The 
horsemen  remaining  on  the  left  bank,  (perhaps 
there  were  twenty,)  crowded  into  the  courtyard 
of  the  mill,  and  into  the  cottage  itself  This 
was  the  band  of  Tver,  which  the  Prince  Mik- 
hail Kholmskii,  (a  kinsman  of  the  Muscovite 
voevoda,  the  Prince  Daniel  Dmitrievitch,)  one 
of  the  most  faithful  servants  of  his  lord,  had  as- 
sembled almost  by  force,  and  detached  hither. 
The  soldiers  who  composed  it  marched  as  it 
were  in  a  funeral  procession  ;  and  no  wonder — 
they  were  arrayed  not  to  defend  their  sovereign 
in  his  capital,  over  the  graves  of  his  crowned 
forefathers,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  golden- 
domed  Saviour,  but  to  escort  a  man  who  had 
ceased  to  be  their  sovereign,  and  who  had,  of 
his  own  free-will,  without  a  struggle,  left  them 
at  the  mercy  of  another,  already  victorious  by 
the  terror  of  his  name  alone.  Without  bidding 
farewell  for  ever  to  his  subjects,  by  night,  hke 
a  thief,  depriving  them  of  their  Great  Prince, 
and  of  all  the  sanctity  comprehended  in  that 
name,  he  was  about  to  fly,  a  cowardly  exile,  to 
Lithuania,  a  country  immemorially  the  enemy 
of  their  own.  Did  not  this  shameless  flight  re- 
lease them  from  their  allegiance  !  This  thought 
alone  was  enough  to  destroy  their  courage. 
With  it  were  mingled  the  inducements  and  the 
bribes  of  Ivan's  partisans  ;  the  rumours  of  the 
favour  with  which  the  rich  and  powerful  Great. 
Prince  of  Moscow,  who  must  sooner  or  later 
be  their  master,  overwhelmed  those  who  would 
set  the  example  of  going  over  to  his  side  ;  and 
the  rumours,  too,  of  the  punishment  which 
would  fall  on  those  whose  obstinacy  would  de- 
lay their  desertion  too  long.  An  hour  had  not 
passed  before  the  greater  part  of  them,  one  af- 
ter another,  under  various  pretexts,  skulked 
away  behind  the  bushes,  directed  their  horses' 
heads  along  the  left  bank  of  the  rivulet,  and 
crossing  it  at  a  convenient  place,  betook  then>- 
selves  to  the  Muscovite  camp.  This  they  had 
only  thus  long  delayed  to  do-,  from  the  impossi- 
bility of  deserting  from  the  town  without  dan- 
ger. Only  about  a  dozen  brave  men,  remain- 
ing among  the  bushes,  refused  to  betray  their 


98  THE    HERETIC. 

duty.     And  for  this  rtiere  was  an  important  rea-  ;  another,  or  when  a  spinner  turns  the  spindle 

son— sleep  had  overcome  them.  They  had  you  could  not  tell  whether  the  snow  was  falling 
yielded  themselves  up  to  it,  trumpeting  the  from  heaven,  or  whirling  up  from  earth — you 
praises  of  Prince  Mikhail  Borisovitch  and  Ivan  could  not  see  a  speck  of  God's  creation.  My 
Vassflievitch  without  distinction,  as  they  ap-  son  was  asleep,  but  I  could  not  sleep — lexpect- 
peared  in  their  dreams.  The  chief  of  this  band  '.  ed  every  moment  that  the  roof  would  be  torn 
suspected  nothing  of  what  was  going  on.  He  !  off,  and  that  we  should  be  carried  away,  body 
was  quietly  seated  in  the  cottage,  addressing  his  '  and  goods.  I  lighted  myself  a  pine  splinter,  but 
conversation  alternately  to  the  miller,  to  the  '  my  heart  kept  on  beating.  All  of  a  sudden,  I 
centurion  and  captain  often,  who  were  with  I  hear  something  behind  me  breathing  chill  on  me. 
him,  or  who  were  listening.  At  midnight  he  i  I  lelt  a  kind  of  cold  air  ;  I  look,  and  I  see  be- 
expected  the  agreed-on  signal  from  the  road  to  '  fore  me  a  tall  white-headed  old  man,  with  his 
Starilza.  i  hair  all  dishevelled,  like  a  pine,  a  beard  down 

"  Who  is  that  1  thy  son  ?"  he  asked  the  mil-  to  his  knees,  as  large  as  a  good  armful  of  comb- 
ler,  pointing  to  the  boy.  |  ed  flax,  as  white  as  one  of  us  when  we  have 

'•My  adopted  son,  fair  sir.  'Twill  be  three,  been  grinding  flour  two  days  and  nights  run- 
years,  come  the  Fast  of  Assumption,  since  I  ning;  his  eyes  were  grey,  and  seemed  to  look 
found  him  in  the  woods  of  the  monastery.     He  ]  one  through  ;  he  wore  a  fur  gown  with  the  hair 


hath  never  uttered  a  word — it  is  clear  the  Wood 
Spirit  hath  passed  over  him.  From  that  day  he 
hath  been  as  dumb  as  a  fish.  We  have  not  dis- 
covered either  his  family  or  kin  ;  so  I,  ye  see, 
became  a  father  to  him." 

Then  began  tales,  among  the  warriors  of 
Tver,  about  various  dumb  people,  who  had  be- 
come so  from  the  Wood  Spirits  having  passed 
over  them. 

"  But  how  doth  the  Wood-demon  agree  with 
thy  House-spirit !"  asked  the  chief  again. 

"  It  would  be  sinful  to  say  that  I  have  reason 
to  complain  of  him,  though  he  hath  rw  reason 
either  to  use  us  ill :  we  take  care  of  his  dwell- 
ing in  the  woods,  and  we  never  insult  him." 

"  Perhaps,  then,  he  hath  visited  thee,  grand- 
father!" 

"  And  he  hath  done  that  too,  fair  sir." 

"Did  he  come  himself,  or  didst  thou  invite 
him  ]  Didst  thou  regale  him  with  cake  or  crab- 
stick  1"  laughingly  asked  one  of  the  captains, 
a  free-thinker,  an  espnt-fuit,  of  those  times,  who 
was  sitting  close  to  the  window. 

'•  Jest  not  about  him,  boyarin  ;  if  thou  shout 
in  wood  or  plain,  crack  !  he  will  reply  again," 
answered  the  miller. 

At  this  moment  somebody  scratched  loudly 
at  the  wnidow,  and  the  captain  fancied  he  had 
heard  a  thousand  footsteps  in  the  forest. 

At  these  sounds  the  brave  warrior  felt  "goose- 
skin"  creeping  all  over  him. 

"  Look,"  cried  the  chief,  bursting  into  a  loud 
laugh,  "  the  centurion  hath  changed  counte- 
nance ;  he  is  frightened,  at  a  cat !" 

"  Thou  wouldst  not  he  our  chief  if  thou  wert 
not  braver  than  we."  answered  the  captain  an- 
grily, retiring  from  the  window. 

"  x\ow,  then,  old  fellow,"  said  the  chief,  turn- 
ing to  the  miller,  "  untruss  ;  tell  us  how  the 
Wood-spirit  came  to  see  thee." 

"Assuredly;  if  it  will  give  pleasure  to  you, 
my  lord.  It  was  the  summer  before  last,  about 
the  feast  of  St.  Nikolai  of  the  Winter,  in  the 
night-lime,  as  it  might  be  now — may  1  speak  it  in 
a  good  hour,  and  hold  my  tongue  in  an  evil  one  I 
The  frost  was  fierce,  it  raged  like  a  famished 
beast ;  ye  could  not  put  your  nose  out  of  doors, 
so  sharply  would  it  nip  it  in  its  claws  ;  my  cot- 
tage groancdand  creaked, as  if  someone  waslay- 
ing  on  to  its  ribs  with  an  oaken  cudgel.  About 
an  hour's  space  passed,  and  then  it  lulled  a  little 
All  about  rose  up  the  whirlwinds,  groaning, 
swirling,  twirling  like  a  spindle,  or  as  when  a 
troop  of  horse  are  galloping  and  chasing  one 


outwards. 

"  'Tvvould  be  a  sin  to  deny  that  my  tongue 
clove  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth  ;  my  feet  felt  as 
if  they  were  nailed  to  the  ground.  '  Fear  no- 
thing,' he  said,  T  have  come  to  warm  myself; 
ever  since  I  have  made  the  forest  grow,  I  never 
saw  such  weather.'  And  he  began  to  warm 
himself  at  the  stove,  spreading  out  his  bony  fin- 
gers. When  he  had  thawed  himself  awhile,  he 
prepared  to  go  back  to  his  place.  '  I  thank 
thee,'  he  said — '  never  will  I  forget  thy  kindness.' 
From  that  time,  my  good  lord,  I  have  never  seen 
him  again.  But  the  Wood-spirit  hath  kept  his 
word.  The  husbandmen  that  bring  their  corn- 
to  me  to  be  ground,  never  have  done  praising  a 
good  man  who  meeteth  them  in  the  forest  in  bad 
weather,  and  guideth  them  to  me  :  if  a  man's 
nag  is  knocked  up,  he  just  lays  his  hand  on  their 
sledge,  and  it  goes  on  of  itself  as  they  had  har- 
nessed a  five-year-old  to  it.  And  the  little  roads 
that  lead  to  my  house,  are  always  as  level  and 
smooth  as  the  first  snow-roads,  and  "  .  .  .  . 

A  distant  groan  was  heard,  and  then  it  was 
repeated. 

"  Is  it  not  our  sentinels  on  the  high-road  that 
are  calling  us  !"  asked  the  chief. 

"They  would  have  sent  a  picket,"  said  the 
captain. 

"  Look  out  of  the  window." 

The  captain  was  ashamed  to  refuse.  With 
a  presentiment  of  some  evil  he  drew  back  the 
sliding  window,  and  instantly  started  away  from 
it  with  a  shout  of  terror.  Not  he  alone,  but 
many  of  the  soldiers — the  chief  himself— saw 
sparks  spreading  before  the  window,  and  glar- 
ing upon  them  a  hoary  old  man,  with  a  long 
white  beard. 

Nobody  dared  to  stir.  The  window  remained 
open.  Two  or  three  moments  passed,  and  again 
appeared  the  old  man's  face.  This  time  he 
cried,  in  a  hoarse  voice — "  Get  ye  gone  from 
hence,  over  the  mill-dam.  Enter  not  my  forest, 
or  your  very  bones  shall  never  be  gathered." 

And  he  vanished. 

Trembling  seized  the  warriors  :  they  seemed 
to  dread  to  look  at  one  another  ;  much  less  could 
they  stir  from  their  places,  so  completely  had 
the  Wood-spirit  frightened  them.  They  sat 
upon  the  benches,  neither  alive  nor  dead. 

Immediately  afterward  there  appeared  a  ball 
of  fire,  rolling  over  and  over,  and  crackling  like 
the  laughter  of  an  hundred  witches  at  their  Sab^ 
bath.  It  seemed  as  if  the  trees  of  the  forest 
were  crushed.     Then  a  crash  was  heard  that 


THE   HERETIC. 


made  the  walls  quake  ;  a  splinter  flew  from  the 
window  and  wounded  one  of  the  soldiers  in  the 
face.  All  immediately  threw  themselves  out  of 
the  cottage  on  all  fours  ;  upsetting  each  other, 
shoving,  and  crowding,  they  rushed  into  the 
court  where  their  horses  were  ;  tumbhng  over 
their  comrades  who  were  sleeping  in  the  yard, 
and  who,  frightened  out  of  their  wits  by  this 
rough  awakening  from  their  sleep,  rushed  hither 
and  thither,  seizing  the  first  horse  that  came  to 
hand,  mounting  anyhow,  by  head  or  tail.  The 
frightened  steeds  darted  out  of  the  court-yard 
to  the  mill-dam,  into  the  forest,  or  tumbled  with 
a  loud  splash  into  the  water ;  their  masters, 
crowding  over  the  dam,  and  shoving  against 
each  other,  fell  in  also.  The  uproar  was  tre- 
mendous. The  band  posted  on  the  right  bank 
of  the  rivulet  in  the  underwood  was  also  struck 
with  panic.  Not  knowing  what  was  the  matter, 
they  galloped  along  the  mill-dam,  capsizing 
those  they  met,  and  cutting  at  each  other  or  the 
air.  And  again  the  Wood-demon  glared  with 
his  fiery  eyes,  now  in  one  place,  now  in  another  ; 
again  the  ball  of  fire  rolled  along,  wounding  and 
killing  the  fliers.  The  infernal  laugh  resound- 
ed behind  them,  and  was  repeated  along  the 
water  and  through  the  forest  by  a  hundred 
echoes.  In  a  few  minutes,  out  of  the  whole 
band  which  was  to  have  escorted  the  Great 
Prince  of  Tver,  there  remained  in  the  mill  and 
its  vicinity,  to  a  distance  of  some  hundred  fath- 
oms round,  only  about  a  dozen  wounded  or  kill- 
ed, drowned  in  the  river  or  buried  in  the  swamp. 
The  rest  had  all  galloped  off  full  speed  straight 
to  the  Great  Prince  of  Moscow.  In  the  course 
of  their  flight  they  saw  in  different  quarters  of 
Tver  fiery  tongues  begin  to  gleam,  and  flit  along 
the  roofs  :  they  heard  the  thunder  of  the  cannon 
resounding  louder  and  louder  through  the  sub- 
urbs, and  the  beating  of  the  kettle-drums.  Soon, 
mingling  with  this  dirge  of  Tver,  arose  the  cries 
of  the  besiegers  and  the  groans  of  the  inhabit- 
ants. 

Silence  again  sank  down  around  the  cottage. 
But  the  miller,  almost  frightened  out  of  his  sen- 
ses by  all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard,  stood,  nei- 
ther dead  nor  alive,  still  on  the  same  spot,  in  the 
middle  of  his  hut,  muttering  a  prayer.  In  this 
attitude  he  was  found  by  fresh  guests.  These 
were  two  armed  gallants  ;  they  bore  in  triumph 
on  their  arms  a  little  Wood-spirit,  and  seated 
him  on  a  bench.  Then  such  a  fit  of  laughter 
began  among  them,  that  they  were  forced  to 
hold  their  sides. 

"  Well,  much  thanks,  father ;  thou  hast  help- 
ed us,"  said  the  little  Wood-demon. 

The  old  man  comprehended  nothing  of  this 
apparition,  and  knew  not  what  to  answer. 

"Well  (lone  the  brave  army  of  Tver!"  ex- 
claimed one  of  the  new-comers  ;  "  it  ran  away 
from  a  horse's  tail." 

Then  Andriousha  (for  it  was  really  he,  dis- 
guised with  some  white  tails,  which  they  had 
cut  off  from  two  horses  for  the  nonce,  and  hast- 
ily twisted  round  his  chin  and  head) — then  An- 
driousha took  off  the  attributes  of  the  Wood- 
demon,  and  appeared  before  the  miller  in  his 
real  form.  These  unexpected  guests  were  soon 
joined  by  several  dozens  of  Khabar-Simskoi's? 
brave  band,  and  then  began  the  tales  of  the 
manner  in  which  this  strange  victory  had  been 
won.      Having  laughed   their  fill,  and  having 


recompensed  the  miller  with  the  horses  that 
were  left  in  the  court,  for  damage  done  to  his 
cottage  and  for  the  future  burial  of  the  killed, 
the  volunteers  hastened  to  another  piece  of  bu- 
siness.  Andriousha,  and  the  two  soldiers  to 
whose  care  he  was  confided,  were  dispatched 
to  Kliabar  to  report  the  success  of  their  attempt : 
those  who  remained  joined  the  troops,  which 
were  posted  about  the  forest  in  such  a  manner, 
that,  at  tlie  first  signal,  they  could  concentrate 
themselves  on  any  point  that  signal  might  in- 
dicate. 

In  the  mean  time  Khabar  Sfmskoi,  with  the 
leech  Antony,  and  some  dozen  soldiers,  was 
employed  on  another  service.  They  had  taken 
prisoners  two  small  pickets,  which  were  posted 
at  the  exit  from  the  suburb  beyond  the  Tmaka, 
rather  nearer  to  the  pine  forest,  and  had  given 
them  over  to  an  ambush  composed  of  some  of 
the  volunteers,  by  whom  they  were  conducted 
in  turn  to  the  Zeltikoff  monastery.  When  the 
voevoda  was  convinced,  by  these  attempts  to 
make  a  sortie,  and  by  the  information  of  An- 
driousha, that  the  Muscovite  troop  had  no  dan- 
ger to  apprehend  in  the  direction  of  the  suburbs 
beyond  the  Tmaka,  he  posted  a  picket  of  a  small 
number  of  his  cavaliers  at  the  very  same  spot, 
close  to  the  exit  from  the  suburb,  on  which  the 
defeated  Tveritchanins  had  been  stationed. 
From  thence  he  detached  a  party  of  his  cavalry 
along  the  Tmaka  on  one  side,  and  along  the 
Volga  on  the  other.  It  was  impossible  for  the 
fish  to  slip  by.     They  awaited  a  good  haul. 

"  They  are  coming,"  said  Andriousha,  whose 
daring,  which  it  was  impossible  to  restrain,  had 
carried  him  closer  to  tlie  suburb:  "I  was  the 
first  to  hear  them  ;  tell  my  father  of  this,  and 
Ivan  Vassi'lievitch." 

And  in  reality  the  gallop  of  cavalry  was  soon 
distinguished,  and  speedily  a  number  of  horse- 
men appeared  through  the  darkness,  and  came 
up  in  a  line  with  Khabar. 

"Who  goes  tliere  V  he  cried. 

"Friends,"  boldly  replied  one  of  the  horsemen. 

"  And  ye  1"  enquired  a  tremulous  voice. 

"  Thine  escort,  my  lord,"  answered  Khabar, 
guessing  that  this  was  the  voice  of  the  Great 
Prince  of  Tver,  a  feeble  old  man  ;  then  he 
whistled  shrilly. 

At  this  signal,  the  cordon  which  had  been 
formed,  closed  round  him  in  a  few  moments. 
The  darkness  did  not  permit  faces  to  be  distin- 
guished. 

"  Come  closer  to  me,  my  lord,"  said  Khabar ; 
"by  my  side  thy  path  will  be  clear." 

The  Great  Prince  Mikhail  Borisovitch  advan- 
ced from  among  his  attendants,  and  rode  close 
up  to  Khabar,  followed  by  another  person  on 
horseback.  "For  the  love  of  God,  take  care 
of  my  Princess,"  he  said.  "  O,  Lord!  forgive 
me  my  sins  !" 

"  Be  thou  not  disquieted  about  me,"  exclaim- 
ed a  gay  female  voice.  Antony  closed  up  to  the 
side  of  the  Princess.  In  this  manner  the  pre- 
cious pledge  was  under  the  swords  of  two  pow- 
erful gallants,  either  of  whom,  in  case  of  need, 
was  a  match  for  two  opponents.  The  Great 
Prince's  attendants  were  surrounded  by  Kha- 
bar's  band.  Kholmskii,  suspecting  nothing, 
rode  a  few  paces  behind.  He  was  less  anxious 
about  his  position  than  disquieted  hy  the  thought 
of  flying  fe-om  the  city  ;  and  stopped  from  time 
to  time  to  listen  whether  they  were  pursued. 


100 


THE   HERETIC. 


The  body  was  put  in  motion  ;  it  proceeded  in 
silence.  The  stillness  was  only  broken  by 
Mikhail  Borisovitch,  who  ever  and  anon  en- 
treated them  to  go  gently,  and  give  him  time  to 
breathe  and  make  a  piteous  prayer. 

They  had  just  brgun  to  approach  the  wood, 
when  cannon  thundered  in  the  direction  of  .Mos- 
cow, the  sound  of  kettle-drums  was  heard  in 
the  city,  and  the  suburbs  began  to  grow  visible. 

Mikhail  Borisovitch's  horse  stumbled,  but 
Khabar  succeeded  in  catching  the  rein,  held  it 
up,  and  thus  saved  the  Prince  from  a  fall. 

Objects  began  to  start  out  from  the  gloom. 

The  Great  Prince  glanced  at  his  fellow-trav- 
eller, glanced  at  the  fellow-traveller  of  the 
Princess,  and  again  at  his  own.  The  features 
■were  unknown  to  him,  both  with  swords  drawn  ; 
his  attendants  were  surrounded  by  strangers  1 
He  was  confounded  :  a  deathlike  paleness  over- 
spread his  cheeks  ;  the  unfortunate  old  man 
felt  about  to  faint,  and  reined  in  his  horse.  The 
young  Princess,  suspecting  nothing,  gazed  with 
a  kind  of  childish  coquettishness  at  her  hand- 
some squire.  She  was  in  man's  attire — a  pret- 
tier boy  was  never  seen  ;  but  the  fair  Lithuani- 
an knew  how  to  betray,  and  skilfully,  too,  that 
she  was  a  woman. 

To  Kholmskii  all  this  terrible  by-play  was 
now  explained — his  master  was  a  prisoner. 

"  We  are  betrayed  !"  he  cried  ;  "  friends,  let 
us  rescue  our  Great  Prince,  or  die  with  him  !" 

At  this  explanation  the  attendants  drew  their 
swords,  and  were  about  to  cut  their  way  out  of 
the  net  in  which  they  were  involved. 

Khabar  whistled,  and  the  forest  seemed  alive 
with  hundreds  of  soldiers.  "  Be  not  rash.  Prince, 
if  thou  lovest  the  welfare  and  the  life  of  thy  sov- 
ereign," he  shouted,  seizing  the  reign  of  Mikhail 
Borisovitch's  horse.  "  Spill  not  blood  in  vain : 
preserve  his  head — one  blow  and  it  shall  fall !" 

Again  he  wliistled,  and  another  troop  advan- 
ced from  the  pine- wood. 

"Thou  see'st,  thy  men  are  prisoners;  mine 
start  up  in  thousands,  if  need  be.  The  troop 
of  Tveritchanins,  which  thou  sentest  to  the 
mill,  is  all  driven  away,  and  hath  already  yield- 
ed to  our  Great  Prince.  Neither  now  nor  here- 
after hath  Mikhail  Borisovitch  anything  to  look 
for  from  Tver.  Know,  that  the  Muscovites 
can  gain  glory  and  honour  for  their  sovereign  ; 
and,  if  need  he,  that  they  can  escort  even  a 
stranger  prince  in  all  honour." 

What  could  be  done  by  a  handful  against  an 
overwhelming  force?  The  last  defenders  of 
the  Great  Prince  lowered  their  weapons.  Prince 
Kholmskii  now  began  to  propose  conditions. 

Khabar  turned  to  the  Great  Prince  of  Tver. 
_^"7ime  is  precious  for  thee  and  for  Tver,  once 
tliiiii',  Mikhail  Borisovitch,"  said  the  voevoda. 
"Tlipu  see'st  how  the  city  is  blazing.  This  is 
a  flash  from  the  wrathful  eyes  of  Ivan  Vassilie- 
vitch  ;  it  will  consume  the  houses  of  God,  the 
dwellings  of  rich  and  poor.  Thou  alone  can 
quench  that  flame.  The  Tveritchanins  were 
once  thy  children  :  how  canst  thou  be  their  fa- 
ther, if,  in  leaving  them,  thou  desirest  their 
curses,  and  not  their  blessings  for  thy  memo- 
ry 1  nearest  Ihou  their  cryT  .  .  .  .  They  pray 
to  thee  at  parting — 'tis  for  mercy;  save  their 
dwellings,  wives,  children— save  them  from  un- 
merited blood  and  fire.  Instead  of  these  flames 
that  run  along  the  roofs,  leave  words  of  mcrcv, 
like  tapers  before  the  image  of  our  Lord.  " 


At  the  commencement  of  these  arguments 
terror  and  indecision  were  imaged  in  the  face 
of  Mikhail  Borisovitch  ;  at  length  his  heart  was 
touched,  and  he  said — "  What  am  I  to  do  1  in- 
struct me." 

"This.  Send  instantly,  with  my  courier,  the 
Prince  Kholmskii  to  Tver,  and  command  him 
without  delay,  in  thy  name,  to  open  the  gates 
of  the  city  to  the  Great  Prince  of  Moscow,  Ivan 
Vassilievitch,  and  to  make  submission  on  the 
part  of  Tver,  to  him  as  to  its  lawful  sovereign." 

"  With  whom,  then,  am  I  and  the  Princess 
to  remain  1"  enquired  the  timid  old  man. 

"  From  us  thou  hast  nothing  to  fear.  We 
have  not  come  to  lead  the  Prince  of  Tver  into 
captivity,  but  to  conduct  with  honour  Mikhail 
Borisovitch,  cousin  of  the  Great  Prince  of  Mos- 
cow. Our  lord  hath  already  enough  princes  in 
his  prisons  :  Ivan  Vassilievitch  commanded  me 
to  tell  thee  this.  My  young  men,  cloth-work- 
ers and  silk-merchants  of  Moscow,  will  conduct 
thee  to  the  first  station,  and  to  the  second  if 
thou  wish.  Select  thyself  the  escort,  as  many 
as  thou  wilt.  For  a  single  hair  of  thine  they 
shall  answer  with  their  heads.  This  I  swea'r 
to  thee  by  the  Most  Holy  Mother  of  God  and 
the  merciful  Saviour." 

Here  he  crossed  himself 

"  If  thou  dost  not  trust  me,  I  am  Khabar- 
Simskoi.  I  will  yield  me  unarmed  as  a  hostage 
to  the  Prince  Kh61mskii." 

"  For  Khabar  I  will  answer  "  said  Kholmskii. 

Who  is  there  that,  in  the  place  of  the  Great 
Prince  of  Tver — childless,  hopeless,  surrounded 
by  treachery,  in  his  old  age — would  not  have 
consented  to  the  proposition  of  the  Muscovite 
voev6da  ? 

Doffing  his  bonnet  and  skull-cap,  and  thrice 
signing  himself  with  the  cross,  the  old  man,  in 
view  of  the  conflagration  of  his  capital,  yielded 
up  the  cathedral  of  the  Holy  Saviour  and  the 
principality  of  Tver  to  the  ruler  of  .Ml  Russia. 
Sadly  touching  were  his  words,  like  the  last  in- 
junctions of  a  dying  man.  Tears  streamed 
down  his  pale,  feeble  face,  and  more  than  once 
he  was  interrupted  by  his  sobs. 

When  you  ride  past  the  pine  forest  of  Zelti- 
koff,  remember  that  this  abdication  was  per- 
formed under  its  darksome  shade. 

"  If  I  had  possessed  many  servants  like 
thee,"  said  Mikhail  Borisovitch,  as  he  embraced 
Khabar  at  parting,  "Tver  would  yet  have  been 
mine." 

The  Lithuanian  girl  turned  her  head  aside, 
not  to  show  the  tears  which  fell  from  her  eyes 
as  she  extended  her  hand  to  Khab;ir  in  sign  of 
good-will.  The  young  man,  however,  refused 
to  kiss  her  hand,  and  said  haughtily — "  Pardon 
me,  I  may  not  kiss  the  hand  of  a  foreign  sove- 
reign." 

The  Princess  blushed  deeply,  and  the  arches 
of  her  black  brows  were  bent  in  displeasure. 

"  But  I  may  kiss  that  pretty  hand  !"  exclaim- 
ed Andrioiisha,  dismounting  from  his  horse  and 
taking  off  his  helmet. 

The  white  hand  was  given  to  him  with  de- 
light, and  the  lady  embraced  the  handsome  boy- 
warrior. 

"Who  is  to  escort  us?"  said  the  Princess, 
bending  on  Antony  her  eyes,  sparkling  with  live- 
ly satisfaction. 

Khabar  hastened  to  select  a  sufficient  number 


THE  HERETIC. 


101 


of  volunteers,  who  were  ordered  to  guard  the;] 
late  ruler  of  Tver  to  the  first  station  ;  he  him- 
self hurried  off  with  Kholmskii  to  the  city,  in 
order  to  stop  the  spreading  of  the  flames  and 
useless  bloodshed.  Antony  accompanied  him  ; 
it  was  time  for  him  to  be  performing  his  du- 
ties as  a  leech,  (this  he  had  ahiiost  forgotten.) 
He  was  extremely  glad  to  be  rescued  from  the 
seducing  eyes  of  Kazimir's  grand-daughter, 
whose  brightness,  if  not  dangerous,  was  at  least 
likely  to  disturb  his  tranquillity.  In  his  place, 
the  indefatigable  Andriousha  begged  to  be  cho- 
sen one  of  the  escort.  The  consequence  was, 
that  at  the  first  halt  in  the  woods,  the  knees  of 
the  beautiful  Lithuanian  served  him  as  a  pillow  : 
wearied  out,  he  slumbered  on  them,  as  in  the 
lap  of  his  mother,  a  deep,  an  angel's  slumber ; 
and  the  warm,  melling  kiss  of  his  fair  nurse, 
disturbed  not  his  pure  visions. 

The  next  day  the  Princess  and  the  Prince 
begged  Andriousha  to  accompany  them  some 
dozen  versts  further.  He  consented.  The 
Prince  travelled  in  a  waggon  which  had  been 
dispatched  to  meet  him  from  the  first  station  ; 
the  Princess  rode  with  Andriousha  on  horse- 
back. Lovely  children — surely  brother  and  sis- 
ter ! — you  would  have  said,  observing  them 
romping  together,  racing  with  each  other,  and 
stopping  in  the  woods  to  hear  the  singing  of  the 
birds.  The  grand-daughter  of  Kazimir  forgot 
the  crown  she  had  lost,  and  seemed  to  revel  in 
her  freedom,  like  a  bird  just  let  out  of  a  golden 
cage.  At  Tver  she  had  been  confined  by  the 
seclusion  of  a  palace  ;  every  thing  there  was  so 
strange  to  her  !  In  Lithuania  she  would  meet 
her  mother,  her  friends,  her  kinsmen — a  life  of 
liberty.  This  thought  delighted  her,  for  she 
was  young  and  lively  ;  still  a  guest  at  the  feast 
of  life. 

When  Andriousha  bade  farewell  to  the  ex- 
iles, they  invited  him  to  accompany  them  to 
Lithuania.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot ;  I  am 
a  Russian  !" 

The  remainder  of  the  tale  how  Tver  was  sub- 
dued, I  will  finish  in  the  words  of  the  historian. 
'•  Then  the  bishop,  the  prince  Mikhaila  Kholm- 
skii, and  other  princes,  boyarins,  and  citizens  of 
the  land,  having  preserved  to  the  end  their  fidel- 
ity to  their  lawful  sovereign,  opened  the  gates 
of  the  city  to  Ivan,  came  forth  and  saluted  him 
as  the  supreme  monarch  of  Russia.  The  Great 
Prince  sent  his  boyarins  and  deacons  to  receive 
the  allegiance  of  the  inhabitants,  commanded 
that  the  dead  should  be  buried  ....  and  en- 
tered Tver,  heard  mass  in  the  cathedral  of  the 
Transfiguration,  and  solemnly  proclaimed  that 
he  gave  the  principality  to  his  son,  Ivan  Ivano- 
vitch,  left  him  there,  and  returned  to  Moscow. 
In  a  short  lime  he  sent  his  boyarins  to  Tver,  to 
Staritza,  Zoubtziff,  Opoki,  Klin,  Kholm,  Nov- 
gorodok,  to  inscribe  all  the  lands,  and  divide 
them  into  ploughgates  for  the  payment  of  the 
taxes  of  the  crown.  So  rapidly  vanished  the 
famous  state  of  Tver,  which,  from  the  time  of 
St.  Mikhad  Yaroslavitch,  had  borne  the  title  of 
the  great  principality,  and  had  long  struggled 
with  Moscow  itself  for  supremacy." 


i  ♦  -;  ;c:^A?T^R  ;xxY. 


THE    MANDRAKE. 

"Plunged  in  a  languagcless  foreboding, 
Leaving  his  comrades  far  behind. 
Into  that  lonely  land  he  hurried, 
And  prick'd  through  forests  drear  and  blind. 
In  thoughts  of  woe  and  vengeance  buried.— 
And  prompting  aye  his  soul  to  ill, 
A  demon  voice  around  him  flutter'd, 
'  My  sword  shall  burst  that  bar— I'll  kill !' — 
Ever  that  dark  Knight  inly  mutter'd." 

PousHKiN — Rousldn  and  JLiudmila. 

We  have  seen,  in  our  tale,  two  opposed  par- 
ties—that of  the  boyarin  Mamon  against  the 
family  of  Obrazetz,  and  that  of  the  knight  Pop- 
pel  against  the  leech  Ehrenstein  ;  I  will  not 
mention  the  secret  inimical  proceedings  of  the 
father  against  the  son,  so  revolting  to  the  feel- 
ings. The  one  was  inspired  with  the  means  of 
mischief,  by  the  very  demon  of  evil  and  hate  ; 
the  others,  fulfilling  their  duty,  repulsed  thera 
with  strength  and  generosity  of  heart.  Hither- 
to the  first  had  succeeded  in  nothing,  if  we  ex- 
cept the  heretical  demon  which  Mamon  had 
placed  in  the  house  of  Obrazetz  to  injure  him, 
and  afflict  the  daughter  he  so  tenderly  loved. 
They  took  advantage  of  the  absence  of  the 
Great  Prince,  and  of  their  chief  opponents,  to 
seek  out  new  and  more  sure  weapons  with  in- 
fernal ingenuity.  All  expedients  were  tried 
over  in  a  heart  and  intellect  inventive  of  evil  ; 
and  some  are  horn  with  a  genius  even  for  this. 
Revenge  of  slighted  love  added  to  this  party  a 
third  character,  the  widow  Selinova.  From  a 
victim  she  had  become  a  sacrificer,  edged  the 
knife  for  Khabar's  ruin,  and  mingled  the  poison 
to  destroy  him.  Among  them  circulates  the 
everlasting  Interpreter,  ready  to  curry  favour 
with  friend  and  foe,  ready  to  do  a  service  evea 
to  his  enemy,  so  long  as  he  could  be  serving 
somebody.  All  who  surrounded  Antony  and 
Anastasia  were  busied  in  intrigues  :  while  they, 
simple  and  innocent,  suspected  nothing,  saw 
nothing,  heard  not  the  menaces  of  the  demon. 

Bartholomew  did  not  delay  to  bring  together 
Poppel  and  Mamon.  The  harebrained  frivolous 
knight,  and  the  wicked  boyarin,  soon  came  to 
an  understanding.  The  latter  had  need  of  the 
knight,  and  took  care  to  flatter  his  vanity  by 
peculiar  marks  of  respect,  and  skilful  expres- 
sions of  a  desire  to  please  him.  The  Germaa 
needed  some  object  on  which  to  support  his 
vanity,  and  was  well  pleased  to  find  that  sup- 
port on  the  shoulders  of  a  boyarin,  a  confiden- 
tial servant  of  Ivan.  And  the  secret  and  mu- 
tual attraction  between  such  similar  souls — 
what  is  their  connexion  but  a  strong  amalgam  ! 
Gold  can  only  be  united  with  an  impure  metal 
by  the  employment  of  another  noble  metal,  and 
then  it  is  not  difficult  for  the  refiner  to  unite 
two  substances  of  the  same  species.  The  dif- 
ference between  them  consists  only  in  the 
heaviness  of  the  one  and  the  lightness  of  the 
other.  Once  united,  they  present  a  single  im- 
pure whole,  and  the  point  of  junction  is  imper- 
ceptible, though  that  junction  is  the  work  of  an 
unskilful  artificer. 

"  What  did  Mamon  want  with  the  knight  1" 

Our  readers  remember,  that  the  boyarin  was 
preparing  himself  for  the  ordeal  by  battle  witli 
his  deadly  foe.  He  knew  that  the  foreigners 
were  more  skilful  in  the  use  of  arms,  (a  fact 
which  had  been  recently  proved  by  a  certaia 


103 


THE  MERETIC. 


Lithuanian,  who  Wad  <lJ9feated  ii.the  li»t<j  a  cel- 
ebrated Russian  champiun  solely  by  his  dexlei- 
ity,  wherefore  Ivan  Vassflievitch,  from  that 
time,  had  strictly  forbidden  the  Russians  to 
fight  with  foreigners  ;)  he  had  heard  that  in  the 
suite  of  the  ambassador  there  happened  to  be 
a_  master  of  this  art,  and  he  conceived  an  irre- 
pressible desire  t-o  take  lessons  of  him.  This 
could  by  no  means  be  done  without  Poppel's 
permission.  Being  introduced  to  him  by  the 
translator,  the  knight  gave  with  willingness  not 
only  this  permission,  but  himself— a  celebrated 
master  of  the  art  of  fence,  as  he  boasted — of- 
fered to  perfect  him  in  the  science  of  wielding 
the  sword.  "  The  son  of  Obrazetz  must  fall," 
he  said.  But  how  so?  might  have  been  en- 
quired ;  why,  you  do  not  know,  even  by  sight. 
"How  sol"  he  would  have  answered;  "how 

so  K  ...  I  wish  Mamon  to  be  victorious 

I  have  said  that  the  other  shall  fall,  and  fall  he 
shall.  Now,  ye  shall  see."  It  is  true  there  are 
such  blockheads  ;  there  are  also  cases  in  which 
for  such  words  as  these,  spoken  thoughtlessly, 
and  afterwards  kept  by  strength  and  cunning, 
the  unhappy  are  innocently  ruined,  involved  in 
snares  on  all  sides — and  with  them  fall  for  ever 
their  honour  and  their  fame. 

At  first  the  noble  knight  seconded  Mamon 
from  desire  to  benefit  him,  and  to  injure  a  man 
of  whom  he  knew  nothing ;  and  then  he  was 
confirmed  in  his  desire  to  serve  his  new  ac- 
quaintance, by  recognizing  in  his  opponent  a 
young  man  with  military  talents,  who  had  done 
good  service  to  his  country.  To  the  envious  it 
always  appears  that  the  shadow  of  a  great  man 
may  fall  upon  him  and  obscure  him  from  the 
eyes  of  the  multitude,  though  they  may  be 
journeying  in  different  paths  ;  and  then  he  in- 
variably thinks  that  the  multitude  have  nothing 
else  to  do  but  to  admire  his  greatness.  Down 
with  the  lofty  man,  and  the  sooner  the  better  ! 
....  At  last,  from  that  idea,  which  was  the 
motive  for  the  knight's  zeal  for  Mamon,  he  ad- 
vanced to  the  desire  of  injuring  Kliabar  in  or- 
der to  benefit  himself  He  promised  to  assist 
his  friend's  vengeance  ;  in  exchange,  the  noble, 
grateful  Mamon,  learning  that  the  leech  Anto- 
ny was  an  obstacle  to  the  German's  welfare, 
promised  to  sweep  away  that  trifling  impedi- 
ment if  he  came  off  victorious  in  the  lists.  And 
the  simple  creature  who  had  formed  their  con- 
nexion, the  universal  llattercr  Bartholomew, 
could  not  have  imagined  that  he  would  have 
been  the  ground  on  which  such  splendid  designs 
were  to  be  embroidered. 

Mamon  did  not  rest  contented  with  the  ordi- 
nary means  of  man  in  order  to  destroy  his  foe: 
he  sought  others  in  the  supernatural  world  ;  he 
had  recourse  even  to  the  Fiend.  He  had  heard 
that  the  adepts  of  the  Jewish  heresy,  which 
had  its  nest  at  Moscow,  were  in  possession  ot 
cabalistic  or  necromantic  secrets,  by  which  they 
could  perform  wonders,  and  determined  on  hav- 
ing recourse  to  the  power  of  these  enchanters. 

We  have  already  said  that  the  philosophical 
curiosity  of  the  fifteenth  century,  which  was 
now  reaching  its  dose,  had  agitated  nearly  ev- 
ery population  of  Europe.  Its  services  were 
innumerable  ;  wlui  knows  them  not !  But  that 
spirit  of  experimental  enquiry  was  not  content- 
ed with  immortalizini?  lho\ight,  with  liberating 
it  from  the  slavery  of  antiquity,  from  the  power 


of  Popery ;  bestowing  on  man  an  unsleeping 
pilot  over  the  ocean,  and  bringing  down  the 
thunderbolt  from  heaven  ;  not  contented  with 
giving  the  human  race  a  new  world  on  its  own 
planet ; — no,  this  all-devouring  curiosity  desired 
to  gain  a  still  further  victory  over  heaven,  to 
steal  from  it  a  secret,  hitherto  accessible  to  no 
man,  and  to  no  century.  This  contagion  had 
unavoidably  extended  itself  to  Russia,  through 
the  medium  of  diplomatic  relations,  the  natural 
connexion  with  one  of  the  western  courts,  and 
through  the  seekers  of  profit  and  adventure. 
Under  the  forms  of  the  Jewish  heresy  it  had  ac- 
tually communicated  itself  to  our  country.  At 
first  Kfeffhad  caught  it  from  the  Hebrew' Skha- 
ria,  "a  man  right  cunning  of  mind,  sharp  of 
tongue  ;  then  Novgorod  from  him  also  ;  thence 
victory  transferred  it  to  Moscow.  Now,  fresh 
seeds  of  these  opinions  were  brought  in  by  the 
suite  of  Helena,  daughter  of  Stephan  the  Great, 
(as  he  was  styled  among  us,  voevoda  of  Valla- 
chia.)  "  This  misfortune  came  first  out  of  the 
land  of  Hungarie,"  says  the  annalist.  The  dea- 
con Kourilzin,  wise,  acute,  but  carried  away  by 
a  blind  and  simple  love  for  science,  took  to  his 
heart  this  contagion  in  Hungary,  and  dissemi- 
nated it  as  far  as  he  could.  On  this  occasion, 
"on  the  wise  man,"  as  the  proverb  hath  it, 
"came  the  simplicity  of  the  child;"  and  only 
on  this  occasion  the  diplomatic  services  he  had 
rendered  to  Ivan  III.,  worthily  appreciated  as 
they  were,  were  a  pledge  of  his  dexterous  and 
penetrating  intellect.  And  we  must  repeat, 
that  the  cause  of  this  simple  confidence  was 
that  very  love  of  knowledge,  that  insatiable  cu- 
riosity, which  mastered  not  only  the  solitary 
men  of  genius,  but  even  the  coarse  masses  of 
the  fifteenth  century.  Skharia  boasted  of  his 
knowledge  of  the  cabalistic  art.  It  pretended 
to  solve  the  enigmas  of  life  and  death ;  the 
thirst  for  explaining  these  mysteries  tormented 
the  wise  deacon,  and  therefore  he  plunged 
headlong  into  this  chaos,  taking  for  his  guide 
the  cunning  Jew.  The  powerful  example  of  the 
deacon,  that  of  the  wife  of  Ivan  the  Voung, 
Helena,  who  was  infatuated  by  the  lying  sci- 
ence, the  dexterity  and  cunning  of  the  mission- 
aries— credulity,  sense,  and  folly — all  united  at 
lengtii  in  maintaining  the  Jewish  heresy,  which 
had  threatened,  at  Novgorod  and  Moscow,  to 
shake  the  corner-stone  of  our  well-being.  Cler- 
gy and  women,  princes  and  mob,  rich  and  poor, 
crowded  in  multitudes  to  the  synagogue,  not- 
withstanding the  warnings  and  even  the  anath- 
emas of  their  ecclesiastical  pastors,  really  zeal- 
ous for  the  salvation  of  souls.  So  strong  was 
the  contagion  that  even  the  head  of  the  Musco- 
vite church,  the  primate  Zozima,  took  a  lively 
interest  in  it.  In  his  palace  there  not  unfre- 
quenlly  took  place  assemblies  of  the  heretics. 
"We  have  seen,"  writes  Tosif  of  Volok,  "the 
child  of  Satan  on  the  throne  of  God's  saints, 
Peter  and  Alexei ;  we  have  seen  the  ravening 
wolf  in  the  clothing  of  the  peaceful  shepherd." 
The  Great  Prince  looked  on  the  heresy  as  a 
matter  of  philosophy,  of  love  of  knowledge,  so 
natural  to  man.  That  it  had  no  dangerous  ob- 
ject he  was  satisfactorily  assured  by  those 
about  liim,  themselves  either  members  of  the 
secret  association,  or  bribed  over  to  their  inter- 
ests ;  but  more  than  all  by  his  favourite,  Kour- 
itzin,  who  had  given  him  so  many  proofs  of  de- 


THE    HERETIC. 


103 


-volion  and  fidelity.  The  matter  was  so  craftily 
managed  that  Ivan  Vassilievitch,  with  all  his 
farsightedness,  never  so  much  as  suspected 
the  contrary.  We  must  add,  too,  that  a  degree 
of  toleration,  rare  in  that  period,  glittered,  the 
chief  gem  in  the  crown  of  this  man  of  genius. 
This,  together  with  a  decided  spirit  of  despotism, 
which  purposely  went  against  the  popular  cur- 
rent, undeniably,  sometimes  stupidly,  obstinate 
against  his  useful  innovations,  was  the  cause 
why  the  Great  Prince  remained  deaf  to  all  the 
xepreseiitations  of  the  clergy,  respecting  the 
necessity  of  inflicting  an  exemplary  punishment 
on  the  heretics. 

Antony  had  been  conveyed  to  Moscow  by  the 
Jew.  Could  the  young  bachelor  have  imagined 
that  he  should  he  carried  to  the  capital  of  Rus- 
sia by  the  founder  of  a  sect  in  that  country? 
His  driver  was  no  less  a  person  than  Skharia. 
He  had  not  failed,  it  is  true,  to  remark  in  him, 
during  his  journey,  an  unusual  intellect,  a  se- 
ductive eloquence,  chemical  knowledge,  and  a 
striking  love  of  science;  but  the  Jew's  cunning 
succeeded  so  perfectly  in  confusing  all  this, 
that  frequently  the  most  sensible  conversation 
was  followed  by  the  most  absurd  questions  and 
observations,  which  at  first  confounded  Antony's 
guesses.  Never,  during  the  whole  journey,  did 
the  Hebrew,  even  by  an  insinuation,  seek  to 
shake  in  the  young  man  the  foundations  of  his 
jeligious  belief  He  perceived  that  he  had  met 
with  an  intellect  clear  and  firm,  naturally  logi- 
cal, and  tempered  in  the  forge  of  science.  As 
yet  Antony  had  never  experienced  love  ;  love, 
for  which,  as  all  the  world  knows,  even  Her- 
cules spun  at  the  distaff,  Richelieu  wore  mot- 
ley, &c.  &c.  :  was  it  then  surprising  that  our 
bachelor  should  lose  in  Russia  all  the  logic 
given  him  by  God,  and  perfected  in  the  schools  1 
But  at  that  time,  i.  e.  on  the  journey  to  Mus- 
covy, his  intellect,  like  some  mighty  athlete, 
Avas  ready  to  start  up  in  complete  armour, 
■whatever  were  the  direction,  and  whatever  the 
force,  of  the  attack.  And  therefore  the  crafty 
Hebrew,  in  religious  matters,  confined  himself 
to  a  defensive  attitude  against  Antony  ;  but  be 
compensated  for  this  silence  in  another  way. 
He  took  advantage  of  the  long  journey,  to  ob- 
tain from  the  Paduan  bachelor  various  facts  in 
.chemistry,  with  which  the  latter  had  enriched 
himself — "Assuredly,  the  cunning  rascal  wishes 
to  play  the  magician  in  Russia  !"  said  Antony 
to  himself,  as  he  reviewed  in  his  own  mind  all 
his  proceedings  and  conversations.  In  his  con- 
ductor he  had  never  suspected  the  existence  of 
the  head  of  a  sect.  And  when  arrived  at  Mos- 
cow, Skharia  never  attempted  to  introduce 
Antony  among  his  adepts  ;  he  feared  even  then 
that  the  force  of  logical  conclusions,  and  his 
inspired  eloquence,  would  ruin  the  edifice  which 
he  had  constructed  on  so  slight  a  scaffolding; 
and  though  the  young  bachelor  did  become 
acquainted  with  Kouritzin,  their  conversations 
Avere  always  confined  to  natural  science  alone. 
Skharia  had  so  dexterously  put  the  latter  on  his 
guard  respecting  religious  subjects,  that  he — 
fearing  the  young  man's  indiscretion,  natural  at 
his  age,  and  dangerous  from  his  position,  so 
near  the  Great  Prince's  person — never  so  much 
as  spoke  to  Antony  on  religious  questions.  To 
this  was  limited,  externally  at  least,  the  inter- 
'«ourse  between  the  leech  and  the  head  of  the 


heretical  sect,  as  well  as  its  protector  in  Russia. 
Never  once  had  Skharia  visited  Antony,  never 
once  had  he  even  sent  to  him  ;  a  feeling  of 
gratitude,  delicate  and  cautious,  prevented  him 
from  afibrding  even  ground  for  suspicion  that 
the  leech  was  acquainted  with  a  Jew.  Had 
not  the  heretic — even  as  it  was — a  sufficient 
reputation  for  witchcraft  and  necromancy  1 
What  would  have  been  the  consequence,  if  he 
were  observed  carrying  on  an  intercourse  with 
the  enemy  of  Christ  1  For  the  heart  of  the  de- 
spised Jew  preserved  the  memory  of  the  young 
bachelor's  hei>efits,  like  a  holy  commandment. 
That  heart  laid  strict  orders  on  Kouritzin  to 
protect  him,  to  guard  hiin  like  the  apple  of  his 
eye,  like  a  beloved  child  of  his  own — to  inspire 
the  Groat  Prince  with  every  good  feeling  to- 
wards him — to  assist  him,  in  case  of  need,  with 
money,  with  the  power  of  his  influence,  with 
fire  and  sword,  how  he  pleased,  so  as  to  protect 
the  beloved  head  from  the  storms  of  life.  It 
was  that  heart  which  obtained,  from  agents  at 
the  Emperor's  court,  and  in  the  suite  of  Poppel 
himself,  information  as  to  the  dangers  which 
menaced  the  Baron  Ehrenstein's  son,  and  he 
commanded  the  deacon  to  keep  a  strict  watch 
over  his  safety  ;  and  the  deacon,  the  obedient 
disciple  of  Skharia,  performed  with  the  greatest 
punctuality  and  zeal  the  command  of  his  in- 
structor and  second  father,  as  he  styled  him. 
The  Hebrew  was  informed  of  every  thing  that 
took  place  in  Obrazetz's  house,  as  well  in  the 
•boyarin's  as  in  the  heretic's  quarter.  How  he 
gained  this  information,  Kouritzin  himself  did 
not  know,  and  attributed  this  omniscience  to 
the  secrets  of  magic.  In  the  meanwhile  Skha- 
ria was  acquainted  also  with  Antony's  love  for 
the  boyarin's  daughter,  and  was  alarmed  at  this 
passion,  which  might  ruin  the  young  foreigner; 
and,  therefore,  he  began  unceasingly  to  watch 
him  and  all  that  surrounded  him.  But  in  the 
course  of  these  researches  he  had  become  more 
favourably  disposed  to  the  family  of  Obrazetz, 
which  previously  he  had  not  liked,  from  not 
having  been  able  to  shake  its  religious  convic- 
tions. In  the  struggle  between  the  two  parties, 
he  was  on  that  side  to  which  Antony  was 
attracted  by  the  feelings  of  his  heart. 

The  arrival  of  Skharia  in  Moscow  was,  for 
his  partisans  and  disciples,  a  veritable  triumph. 
It  was  said  that  he  had  obtained  possession  of 
a  book,  which  Adam  had  received  from  God 
himself,  and  also  the  head  of  our  primogenitor  ; 
that  he  had  brought  with  him  divers  new  se- 
crets, which  would  astonish  the  human  race. 
These  reports  reached  even  Mamon.  His  at- 
tempts to  obtain  magical  assistance  from  An- 
tony had  not  succeeded  ;  and, therefore,  he  had 
decided  on  having  recourse  to  the  necromancy 
of  the  all-powerful  Jew  enchanter.  The  ab- 
sence of  Iviin  Vassilievitch  left  him  free  to 
fulfil  this  intention.  True,  it  was  difficult  to 
obtain  access  to  the  great  magician,  whose 
place  of  abode  was  unknown  to  all  except 
those  most  closely  connected  with  him.  He 
was  every  where,  they  said,  and  no  where. 
Still  more  difficult  would  it  be  to  obtain  access 
for  those  who,  without  having  devoted  them- 
selves to  his  instructions,  merely  sought  magic 
assistance;  and  Mamon  was,  of  course,  to  be 
counted  among  the  latter  number.  With  the 
aid,  however,  of  large  sums  of  money,  and  the 


10.4 


THE    HERETIC- 


eager  zeal  of  friends,  he  succeeded  in  having  a 
day  appointed  for  his  reception. 

He  was  conducted  at  night,  with  bandaged 
eyes,  through  various  streets,  and  after  many 
complicated  turns  admitted  into  a  house.  With 
difficulty  he  crawled  up  a  staircase,  winding  in 
a  spiral.  On  arriving  at  a  particular  spot,  he 
was  exhorted  to  bend  down  his  head  as  low  as 
possible ;  but  much  as  he  forced  himself  to 
stoop,  he  received  so  vigorous  a  blow,  that 
sparks  flashed  before  his  eyes.  Here  they 
stopped  him,  and  warned  him  not  to  stir  from 
the  spot  under  penalty  of  being  crushed  to 
atoms.  Then  he  was  struck  by  certain  sweet 
superhuman  sounds,  now  swelling,  now  sink- 
ing, and  at  last  dying  away,  and  producing  an 
irresistible  sleep.  Hardly  had  he  begun  to 
yield  to  the  unwilling  drowsiness,  when  thun- 
der roared,  and  a  sulphurious  smell  was  per- 
ceived. The  floor  tottered  beneath  him,  and 
he  felt  as  if  he  were  sinking  through  the  earth. 
A  tremor  seized  him.  He  was  al)out  to  cross 
himself,  but  refrained,  remembering  that  the 
slightest  mark  of  the  cross  would  destroy  him. 
Suddenly  the  bandage  fell  from  his  eyes,  and  he 
found  himself  surrounded  by  moving  clouds  of 
blue  mist  or  smoke,  in  which,  as  it  appeared  to 
him,  he  was  borne  along.  Little  by  little,  the 
clouds  grew  thin,  fiery  specks  began  to  gleam, 
and  he  was  gradually  free'd  from  his  mysterious 
pall.  Mamon  found  himself  in  a  gigantic  cham- 
ber; before  him  stood  a  table  of  enormous  size, 
covered  with  brocade,  in  which  gold  was  so 
thickly  interwoven  in  innumerable  particles, 
that  it  pained  the  eyes  to  look  on  it.  On  the 
table  stood  seven  candles  of  pure  wax,  of  a  vir- 
gin whiteness,  in  golden  candlesticks ;  and 
there  lay  on  it,  beside,  an  enormous"  open  book, 
so  ancient  that  it  looked  as  though  the  first 
touch  would  reduce  it  to  dust,  and  a  human 
skull.  Mamon  observed  the  bead  of  a  serpent 
peering  out  from  its  eye-sockets.  Behind  the 
table,  on  a  kind  of  elevation,  sate  an  old  man. 
His  stern  glance  from  under  bushy  white  eye- 
brows, his  tawny  face,  the  white  bearJ  reaching 
to  his  knees,  the  black,  ample  mantle,  inscribed 
with  cabalistic  characters  of  a  bloody  colour : 
all  this  must  have  awe-struck  him  who  came 
to  consult  the  oracle. 

"  The  reason  why  thou  comest  is  known  to 
us,"  said  the  mysterious  old  man,  in  a  voice  that 
seemed  to  issue  from  the  grave :  "  thou  art  to 
fight  in  the  list  with  thy  sworn  foe,  Khahar- 
Simskoi,  and  thou  asketh  us  for  victory  over 
him.     Is  it  not  so  ?" 

Mamon  replied,  that  the  mysterious  person- 
age, whom  he  knew  not  how  to  name,  had  read 
his  thoughts,  and  foil  upon  his  face  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  terrible  being. 

"  Thy  faith  is  strong  in  our  power,"  continued 
the  mysterious  old  man.  "  Even  now,  as  thou 
appearedst  before  us,  the  book  of  our  father 
Adam  opened  of  itself,  and  showed  how  to  save 
thee  from  the  steel.  Listen!  The  spirits  of 
the  night  have  broirght  into  the  world  the  won- 
der-working man-drake.  Its  power  deslroyeth 
lite  strongest  iron  ;  its  touch  alone  against  a 
sword  breakcth  it  in  pieces.  It  is  hidden  from 
the  eye  of  man  in  the  depth  of  unapproachable 
fcrests  ;  it  is  I'ncoasingly  guarded  by  two  ser- 
p(  nts,  wno  Acsp  watcii  over  it  in  turns,  day  and 
Light.     The  eagle,  the  king  of  birds,  hath  alone 


the  gift  and  strength  to  take  it  from  their  guard. 
Command  thy  servants  to  find  in  the  surround- 
ing woods  an  eagle's  nest  with  nestlings.  Now- 
is  just  the  time  when  they  are  fledged.  Pre- 
pare a  net  woven  of  wires,  of  the  thickness  of 
a  sword-blade,  order  the  servants  to  watch  till 
the  male  and  female  eagle  fly  away  for  prey  for 
their  young.  If  the  hen  remain,  let  them  fright- 
en her  away.  Then  must  the  net  be  fi.xed  over 
the  nest  in  such- wise,  that  it  will  be  impossible 
for  the  old  birds  to  pass  through  to  their  young 
ones,  or  give  them  food.  These  humble  pre- 
paratory duties  thy  servants  can  perform  ;  thus 
it  is  spoken  in  the  book  of  Adam.  Between 
evening  and  dawn  the  eagle  will  find  the  man- 
drake, he  will  with  it  break  in  pieces  the  net, 
and  hide  the  mandrake  in  the  nest  for  another 
similar  occasion.  Now  beginneth  thy  turn^ 
Dost  thou  feel  in  thyself  enough  strength  and 
valour  to  fight,  without  human  aid,  alone  with 
the  two  eagles — namely,  by  the  nest  where  thou 
must  thyself  find  and  take  the  mandrake  ?  Re- 
member, when  thou  performest  this  achieve- 
ment, no  huinan  soul  but  thyself  must  be  nearer 
than  a  hundred  fathoms,  nor  must  see  thee  take 
the  wonder-working  mandrake.  Thou  mayest 
fight  with  whatever  weapons  thou  thinkest  good, 
but  without  a  breast-plate.  Look  whether  the 
achievement  be  not  above  thy  strength." 

"  I  am  ready  even  for  a  flock  of  eagles,  if 
only  I  may  obtain  victory  over  my  hated  foe," 
answered  Mamon. 

The  mysterious  servant  of  the  invisible 
spirits  assured  him  of  undoubted  victory  if  he 
only  could  obtain  the  mandrake ;  and  gave  hiiu 
instructions  how  to  attach  it  to  the  point  of  his 
sword,  by  means  of  a  substance  which  was  not 
metal,  but  resembled  iron  in  colour. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "begone  and  perform  all 
that  I  have  told  thee,  without  departing  one 
hair's-breadih  from  our  words,  and  with  faith  in 
our  might,  which  we  have  received  from  the 
father  of  the  human  race." 

In  obedience  to  instructions  previously  given 
him,  Mamon  placed  on  the  table  a  handful  of 
silver,  and  again  fell  on  the  earth.  Then  again 
began  to  rise  the  columns  of  smoke,  growing 
denser  and  denser,  and  at  length  shrouding  all 
objects.  Then  vanished  the  mysterious  old 
man,  and  the  book  of  Adam ;  there  only  glim- 
mered and  flashed  up  and  down  seven  fiery 
specks,  and  the  skull  gnashed  its  yellow  teeth. 
Mamon's  head  began  to  turn,  and  he  fell  down 
insensible.  When  he  came  to  himself,  he  was 
on  the  hank  of  the  Ya6uza,  where  his  slaves 
awaited  his  return  with  his  horse. 

On  the  next  day  the  thirst  for  vengeance  early 
roused  Mamon.  His  first  thought,  his  first  ac- 
tion, was  to  dispatch  fowlers  and  falconers  in 
every  direction  through  the  surrounding  forests. 
.\  rich  reward  was  promised  to  the  man  who 
should  find  an  eagle's  nest  with  eaglets.  A. 
week  did  not  pass  away  before  one  of  the  peo- 
ple he  had  sent  brought  him  the  wished- for 
tidings.  About  twenty  versts  from  the  city,  to- 
wards Iho  north,  in  the  depth  of  the  forest,  by 
the  inlormation  of  the  neighbouring  peasants,  a 
nest  had  been  discovered  with  two  young 
eagles,  just  beginning  to  be  Hedged — "  .\nd  we 
had  an  opportunity  to  get  a  glance  at  the  old 
one,"  said  the  happy  fowler :  "  such  a  bird  t 
never  saw  in  my  life.  When  he  soars,  he  ob- 
scurelh  the  sun  with  his  wings." 


THE   HERETIC. 


105 


The  promised  reward,  increased  too  by  a 
present,  was  paid.  Now  was  tlie  tiaie  to  make 
tlie  iron  net,  and  fix  it  over  the  nest.  People 
were  sent  to  execute  this ;  their  head  was 
pledged  for  the  performance  of  the  order. 

In  the  mean  time  the  boyarin,  sleeping  and 
awake,  was  in  imagination  fighting  with  the 
eagle.  He  calculated  all  possible  attacks  on 
tlie  part  of  the  king  of  the  birds,  he  studied  all 
modes  of  defence  against  bin),  all  means  of  de- 
stroying him.  Mamon  even  fought  with  bears: 
the  shaggy  quadruped  was  more  than  a  match 
for  any  bird,  though  a  royal  one ;  yet  many  a 
bruin  fell  before  his  powerful  and  dexterous  arm. 
He  anticipated  a  triumph  both  over  the  eagle 
and  over  Khabar  :  his  breast  swelled  at  the  re- 
sult of  his  successful  experiment,  his  heart 
bounded.  After  dispatching  the  fowlers,  he  set 
ofl'  himself  with  a  number  of  falconers,  in  order 
to  be  nearer  to  the  place  of  action.  The  forest 
in  which  the  nest  had  been  found  stood  not  far 
from  the  left  bank  of  the  river  Moskva.  On  this 
bank  a  rich  tent  was  pitched  for  the  boyarin. 
The  fowlers  posted  themselves  around  it.  An- 
other person,  more  tranquil  in  soul,  would  have 
been  enraptured  with  the  picturesque  panorama 
which  surrounded  the  boyarin.  How  many  ob- 
jects were  there  for  a  good  and  loving  heart, 
not  yet  chased  from  the  paradise  of  pure 
thoughts  and  enjoyments  !  The  river  sportive- 
ly spread  its  silver  sheet,  and  imaged  a  multi- 
tude of  various  capes,  reaches,  and  creeks  :  the 
creative  pencil  of  the  Almighty  Artist  had  scat- 
tered, here  green  silken  lawns,  there  mirror-like 
lakes,  gazing  lovingly  up  at  their  heaven  ;  there 
groups  or  shadowy  clumps  of  trees,  or  a  dark 
pine-forest,  which  crowned  a  height  with  its 
jagged  wall,  or  timidly  advanced  from  the  sides 
of  mountains,  or  poured  its  dark  torrent  down 
their  slopes.  Whoever  knows  the  banks  of 
Arkhangelsk  and  Ilinsk,  will  confess  with  me 
that  there  was  ample  food  for  admiration.  It 
was  exactly  in  this  spot  that  the  boyarin  fixed 
his  halting-place.  But  his  soul  flew  far  away  to 
another  spoil ;  and,  like  a  hungry  carrion-crow, 
could  not  rest  until  it  had  drank  blood.  Had 
he  possessed  the  power,  he  would  have  invited 
all  the  birds  of  prey  from  the  surrounding  forest 
to  his  feast  of  blood,  where  he  would  have  offer- 
ed them,  as  the  best  regale,  the  carcass  of  his 
foe. 

In  the  midst  of  these  dark  thoughts  Mam6n 
heard  the  fatal  announcement — "  rcadij.''  Agi- 
tated, all  trembling,  he  demanded  "from  his 
emissaries  a  repetition  of  their  report.  Though 
engaged  in  sacrilege,  he  signed  the  cross,  that 
emblem  of  peace  and  purity  of  soul ;  the  blas- 
phemer dared  to  pray  to  the  Almighty  for  suc- 
cess in  his  enterprise.  He  questioned  the  peo- 
ple in  detail,  how,  and  what  they  had  done  ; 
how  they  had  executed  his  command.  He  lis- 
tened greedily  to  the  relation  of  the  fowlers  ; 
and,  when  their  tale  was  done,  he  still  desired 
to  hear  it  all  again  ;  and  again  he  forced  them 
to  repeat  it. 

When  Mamon's  attendants  were  informed 
that  he  was  going  alone  against  the  eagles,  (not, 
however,  knowing  what  was  his  object,)  they 
all,  casting  themselves  at  his  feel,  began  to  im- 
plore him  not  to  attempt  so  unequal  a  contest. 
It  was  for  no  love  of  him  they  did  this — the 
boyarin  was  cruel  even  to  Ihera— no,  but  from 


fear  on  their  own  account.  He  might  have 
gone,  and  welcome,  to  certain  death,  so  long  as 
they  would  not  have  to  answer  for  it.  Would, 
their  story  be  believed,  that  he  had  forbidden 
them  to  follow  him  when  going  to  such  evident 
danger?  The  prayers  of  his  attendants  were 
in  vain  ;  the  boyarin  determined  on  the  conflict. 

On  the  morrow,  at  daybreak,  he  was  to  be  at 
the  place  of  action. 

He  did  all  he  could  to  close  his  eyes,  but  could 
not.  At  midnight  he  fell  into  a  doze,  but  fright- 
ful visions  pursued  him  even  in  sleep.  Now  a 
crow  pecked  him  on  the  bosom,  and,  tearing 
forth  his  heart,  croaked  and  chuckled  over  it. 
Then  a  long  string  of  spirits,  all  pale-white  and. 
transparent,  skitn  around  him,  fiit  over  him, 
seize  him,  so  that  his  life  seems  torn  away,  and 
whirl  him  through  the  cold,  clammy  mist  of 
their  substance.  At  another  time  he  is  impri- 
soned in  a  human  skeleton,  as  in  a  cage,  witii 
the  agony  of  gazing  through  the  bony  grating;^ 
upon  the  world,  free,  sporting,  rejoicing  —  he 
struggles  to  burst  out,  and  his  head  is  fixed  be- 
tween the  dry  ribs.  Then  again  a  cold,  slimy 
snake  curled  up  upon  him  as  he  slept,  and  lay- 
in  a  wreath  upon  his  bosom,  it  does  not  remain 
on  his  breast,  it  descends,  and  then  again  it 
crawls  upon  his  bosom,  it  fixes  its  head  to  his 
open  mouth,  and  Mamon  sucks,  sucks  it  in  witli 
a  slow  and  long-drawn  gurgle.  And  every  time 
at  these  horrible  visions  Mamon  was  awakened. 
His  heart  died  within  him,  his  hair  bristled  up. 
Oh,  that  he  could  but  hear  the  herald-crowing: 
of  the  cock !  He  awakes  his  people,  and,  not 
trusting  his  own  eyes,  demands  whether  the 
dawn  was  breaking.  "  The  morning  is  yet  not 
come,"  they  said ;  and  he  lay  down,  and  agaia 
began  to  doze.  Then  appeared  before  him  his 
mother  in  an  iron  cage,  enveloped  in  flames; 
through  the  dreadful  tongues  of  fire  she  put 
forth  a  yellow  withered  face,  shook  the  half- 
burned  tatters  of  her  arm,  and  said — '  Go  not .'"' 
He  again  awoke.  Some  one  was  standing  over 
him. — "  Robbers  !"  he  shouted  in  a  dreadful 
voice. 

"  It  is  I,  boyarin,"  said  the  fowler ;"  I  have- 
come  to  say  the  breeze  hath  got  up  from  the 
east,  the  dawn  is  about  to  break." 

And  Mamon  arose,  and  stood  in  deep  thought 
awhile,  like  the  traveller  before  the  frail  planks,, 
which  will  either  bear  him  safe  across  the  abyss, 
or  plunge  him  deep  within  it. 

He  walked  forth  out  of  the  tent.  The  dawn- 
ing was  already  matching  shade  after  shade  of 
her  yellow  and  crimson  draperies.  The  atten- 
dants were  ready  with  all  preparations  for  tlie 
chase.     The  saddled  steeds  neighed. 

"  A  horse  and  hunting-tackle  !"  cried  Mamon. 

In  an  instant  he  was  fully  accoutred,  bow^ 
arrows,  kisten,  one  knife,  then  another. 

According  to  the  directions  of  the  magician, 
he  put  on  no  breast-plate.  At  the  head  of  a 
numerous  train  he  rode  into  the  forest. 

At  first  they  proceed  along  paths  but  slightly 
beaten  ;  then  even  these  disappear  in  the  thiclc 
moss,  which  had  never  borne  the  track  of  living 
being.  Marks  on  the  trees,  made  by  the  hun- 
ters whom  the  boyarin  had  sent,  alone  served 
to  guide  their  course.  The  trees  grew  huger 
and  thicker  as  they  advance  ;  proud  and  mighty, 
they  shut  out  with  their  thick  tops  all  the  pros- 
pect which  separated  them  from  each  other,  and. 


106 


THE    HERETIC. 


seemed  to  forbid  the  growth  in  their  society  of 
saplings  and  brushwood — that  mob  which  had 
dared  to  thrust  itself  among  them.  Their  sum- 
.mits  alone  enjoyed  the  light ;  below  them  all 
Avas  gloom.  It  was  only  here  and  there  that  a 
sunbeam,  stealthily  gliding  in  between  their 
boughs,  encircled  their  boles  with  its  umbered 
ribands,  sprinkling  the  moss  with  golden  dew, 
checkering  the  shrubs  with  its  flitting  network. 
33eneath  this  ray  lay  basking,  now  a  lizard  green 
as  verdigris,  now  a  snake  warming  his  leopard- 
spotted  back.  All  was  still  throughout  the  for- 
est ;  not  one  singing-bird  was  seen.  Hardly 
did  the  vermin,  hearing  the  approacli  of  man, 
Tustle  and  slink  away  ;  or  the  trees,  touched  by 
the  gentle  wind,  seem  to  communicate  to  eacli 
other  some  mysterious  news.  Here  and  there 
the  horsemen  were  obliged  to  burst  through  the 
living  barricade  with  the  chest  of  their  steeds. 
And  now  they  have  ridden  about  two  versts. — 
""  Are  we  near  the  place  ]"  inquired  Mamon. 

"  About  two  hundred  fathoms,"  replied  one 
of  the  fowlers. 

They  continued  to  ride  a  little  further,  and 
Mamon  orders  them  to  halt.  Receiving  direc- 
tions in  which  line  to  ride  so  as  to  find  the  fatal 
tree,  and  giving  them  orders  to  gallop  instantly 
to  his  aid  as  soon  as  tiiey  heard  his  voice,  and 
crossing  himself,  he  departed  alone  to  seize  the 
mandrake. 

The  steed,  feeling  his  loneliness,  turned  res- 
live  and  began  to  rear ;  over  his  coat  passed 
changing  shadows.  But  one  movement,  one 
accent  of  his  powerful  rider,  and  the  steed,  trem- 
iAiog,  darted  on. 

Here  at  last  was  the  longed-for  tree.  Steps 
liad  been  cut  in  its  stem.  It  was  an  elm,  and 
had  been  growing  for  ages.  The  leafy  head  was 
in  tiie  full  vigour  of  its  strength,  while  on  its 
stem  the  tooth  of  time  had  hollowed  out  a  deep 
cavity,  and  the  tough  roots  hardly  rose  from  the 
earth.  Scattered  around,  the  heads  and  skele- 
tons of  animals  showed  that  here  was  the  haunt 
of  birds  of  prey.  On  the  summit  of  the  tree 
was  a  shapeless  heap  of  dry  sticks — the  eaglet's 
t^radle,  the  object  of  the  boySrin'S  journey .  The 
liing  of  birds  screamed  as  he  perceived  his  foe  ; 
in  the  sounds  of  his  own  voice  might  be  distin- 
guished the  humiliation  and  despair  of  the  migh- 
ty. The  air  was  filled  with  his  complaints. 
Mamon  dismounted  from  his  horse,  tied  him  to 
a  tree  at  some  distance,  and  approached  the 
fatal  elm.  At  the  root  lay  fragments  of  iron. 
■Whether  the  net  had  been  badly  forged  by  the 
hand  of  a  person  bribed  by  the  cunning  Skliaria, 
%vhethor  the  eagles  had  broken  it,  or  the  fowlers 
llieniselves,  corrupted  by  the  Jew's  silver,  is  a 
j)oint  of  which  the  relator  of  our  tale  can  give 
no  account.  He  only  knows  that  the  traces  of 
the  broken  net  struck  and  encouraged  the  boya- 
rin. 

The  eagle  was  perched  upon  a  branch. 

As  he  saw  him,  Mamon  turned  up  his  sleeve ; 
tremhhng  with  dilight,  he  drew  his  bow-— aim- 
ed— the  string  claiijied,  the  arrow  whistled  .... 
JJut  the  eye  which  frared  not  to  gaze  on  the 
sun,  anticipated  the  shaft :  the  eagle  Hew  away, 
liis  broad  wings  rustled,  and  soon  he  vanished 
into  the  covert  of  the  distant  trees.  The  shaft 
burying  itself  deep  into  an  enormous  bough,  (i.\ed 
humming  there,  and  ihi-  dry  twigs  flew  around, 
^"he  boyirin  again  began  to  await  the  return  of 


the  eagle,  but  he  came  not ;  the  winged  king 
himself  was  watching  him.  Impatience  seized 
-Mamon.  Bow  and  quiver  were  thrown  aside  ; 
he  begins  to  clamber  up  the  tree,  and  the  eagle 
again  flies  over  him.  Making  a  wide  circle  in 
the  air,  he  perched  upon  his  native  elm,  close  to 
his  offspring.  His  screaming  was  like  the  war- 
trumpet  calling  to  the  battle.  Roused  by  his 
voice,  the  mother  bird  darted  from  the  nest, 
where  she  was  sitting;  she  turns  her  head, 
and,  seeing  the  enemy,  she  answers  the  male 
with  a  complaining  scream.  It  seemed  as  if 
they  were  agreeing  to  defend  their  young,  or  die. 
Mamon  is  already  advancing  along  the  boughs  ; 
suddenly  around  him  there  is  a  rustling  roar,  as 
of  a  hail-storm.  The  eagles  whirl  above  him, 
furiously  screeching,  stretch  their  talons  towards 
him,  and  so  daringly  approach  him  that  they  al- 
most reach  him  with  their  beaks.  He  defends 
himself  from  the  one,  the  other  flies  at  him. 
Suddenly  he  strikes  the  male  with  his  kisten — 
the  weapon,  glancing  ofithe  bird's  wing,  breaks 
in  two  a  thick  branch,  and,  carried  away  by  the 
force  of  the  blow,  falls  to  the  earth.  The  fright- 
ened horse  starts  aside.  The  birds,  as  if  dis- 
couraged by  the  blow,  give  themselves  a  moment 
of  repose.  Mamon  profits  by  the  interval,  climbs 
higher  on  the  branch  ;  another  he  reaches,  a 
third,  and  now  he  is  close  to  the  nest.  But  the 
eagles  do  not  leave  their  young  ones  without 
protection.  They  perch  between  the  nest  and 
the  enemy.  Their  savage  glance  was  fi.xed  on 
Mamon,  and  terrified  his  soul.  With  their  wings 
they  cover  him  as  with  a  tent.  At  the  first 
movement  of  his  knife  the  male  flies  to  another 
branch,  behind  the  foe.  Mamon  follows  him 
with  his  eye,  and,  while  he  raises  his  foot  a  lit- 
tle higher  on  the  branch,  with  one  hand  he  grasps 
at  the  nest,  with  the  other  he  endeavours  to 
plunge  the  knife  into  the  breast  of  the  female  ; 
she  starts  aside,  under  the  cover  of  the  branch- 
es, and  is  only  slightly  wounded.  At  her  pite- 
ous cry  the  eaglets  put  their  heads  out  of  the 
nest  ;  the  male  flies  at  Mamon  from  behind, 
plunges  his  talons  into  him,  and  tears  his  back 
with  his  beak.  Emboldened  by  the  example  of 
the  male,  the  she  eagle  on  her  side  throws  her- 
self on  the  enemy.  The  fight  begins.  The  birds 
screech,  buffet  him  with  their  wings,  tear  him 
with  their  beak  as  with  a  sickle,  and  mangle 
hiin  with  their  talons.  But  Mamon  defends 
himself  with  desperation,  fighting  and  stabbing 
with  his  knife.  Blood  flows  on  both  sides.  The 
cries  of  their  oflspring  inspire  the  winged  com- 
batants with  new  fury.  The  hunter  has  no 
longer  the  hope  of  escaping  from  their  terrible 
talons  :  he  gives  the  signal  of  despair,  and  the 
forest  repeats  it  with  a  thousand  echoes.  The 
eagles  enwrap  Mamon  with  their  wings,  entan- 
gle themselves  with  him.  and  all  three,  exhaust- 
ed, streaming  with  blood,  tumble  fr(mi  the  tree 
in  a  disorderly  mass  :  stopped  by  the  branches, 
they  swing  a  moment  on  them  as  in  an  airy 
cradle,  and  at  last  tumble  with  a  crash  to  the 
ground.  Terrified  by  the  fall,  the  steed  neighs, 
bursts  the  halter,  and  gallops  off. 

The  attendants  rush  to  the  spot,  stab  tho 
eagles  with  knives,  batter  them  with  kistens, 
and  with  difficulty  save  their  master,  half  dead, 
from  his  horrid  prison.  The  feet  of  the  birds, 
though  hacked  oflT,  yet  cling  to  the  foe,  fastened 
deeply  into  him  by  the  talons. 


THE    HERETIC. 


107 


The  nest  is  thrown  down,  the  eaglets  killed. 

They  convey  away  the  boyarin  with  caution, 
and  carry  him  on  a  litter  to  a  neighbouring  vil- 
lage. Thanks  to  the  wings  of  the  birds,  he  had 
escaped  a  fatal  fall.  But  on  his  body  there  was 
hardly  a  spot  without  a  wound. 

Thus  finished  Mamon's  adventure  in  search 
of  the  mandrake.  Reports  were  spread  abroad 
that,  in  a  combat  with  a  bear,  he  had  fallen  un- 
der it-s  paw  ;  but  that  he  had,  nevertheless, 
■come  off  victorious.  For  this  exploit  the  boya- 
rin received  from  brave  men  many  any  unmerit- 
ed bow. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    CUNNING  MEDIATRESS. 
"Passion  that  in  youth  inspired  her. 
She  had  ne'er  forgot  in  age, 
Tlioiigh  this  love  was  late,  it  fired  her 
To  a  fierce  and  sullen  rage." 

RoDSLAN  ayid  Liudmilla. 
Anastasia,  in  bidding  farewell  to  her  brother, 
and  following  with  her  heart  the  beloved  for- 
eigner, remained  in  deep  loneliness.  Never  yet 
liad  she  so  powerfully  felt  that  loneliness  ;  her 
breast  was  torn,  her  heart  seemed  crushed. 
She  comprehended  that  she  loved  the  heretic  ; 
but  wherefore,  how,  and  with  what  object  she 
loved  him,  she  could  give  no  account  to  her- 
self The  thought  of  being  his  wife,  even  if  it 
ever  entered  her  brain,  alarmed  her  very  self: 
.a  maiden,  educated  in  the  strictest  orthodoxy, 
how  could  she  ever  unite  her  destiny  in  the 
house  of  God  with  an  accursed  German? 
Fresh  reports,  too,  reached  her — reports  spread 
by  Bartholomew,  (that  fireman's  rattle,  which 
excited  a  disturbance  without  itself  knowing 
what  it  did,)  and  confirmed  by  the  imperial  am- 
bassador— that  Antony  the  leech  was  a  Jew,  a 
quacksalver,  and  God  knows  what  beside.  Her 
poor  reason  was  still  further  armed  against  the 
inmate  of  her  home  by  these  rumours.  But  to 
tear  him  from  her  heart,  to  forget  him,  she  could 
not — this  was  above  the  powers  of  Anastasia. 
Enchantment  had  overpowered  her  weak  will. 
This  thought  grew  day  by  day  more  strong  with- 
in her. 

Was  it  true  that  Antony  had  accepted  her 
crucifix  !  ....  And  had  he  worn  it!  Even  if 
he  had  worn  it,  it  was  evident  that  it  had 
caused  him  uneasiness.  But,  perhaps,  he  had 
accepted  the  cross  in  order  to  enchant  it.  From 
that  moment  her  bosom  seemed  filled  with 
seething  pitch  ;  when  she  looked  at  Antony,  she 
could  not  remove  her  eyes  from  his  form,  she 
could  not  satisfy  herself  with  gazing  on  him  ; 
she  felt  as  if  she  could  have  plucked  her  soul 
from  her  bosom,  and  given  it  to  him.  If  she 
•could,  she  would  have  fiown  to  him  like  a  bird,  ■ 
and,  forgetting  maiden  shame,  father,  brother, ' 
all — embraced  him  and  died  upon  his  breast. 
He  was  now  afar,  at  Tver  ;  yet  she  always  saw 
him  as  though  he  was  by  her  side,  as  if  with 
his  magic  glance  he  implored  her  to  admit  him 
to  her  heart— she  could  not  shut  him  out.  Did 
she  close  her  eyes  \  there,  too,  was  the  en- 
chanter, sitting  by  her,  and  murmuring  seduc-  [ 
live,  tender  words,  to  which  she  could  only ' 
find  answer  in  Heaven.  Did  she  open  hert 
eyes  !  before  her  stood  the  handsome  foreign- 1 
<er,  as  in  life.     Nor  cross  nor  sign  would  drive , 


away  the  phantom.  Her  maiden  companions 
told  her  (surely  they  had  heard  it  from  their 
mothers,)  that  a  girl  might  love  a  bridegroom, 
but  only  one  whom  she  had  seen  several  times  ; 
that  she  might  love  a  husband  when  she  had 
lived  with  him  a  year  or  two.  But  he  had  nev- 
er been  her  betrothed  ;  why,  then,  from  the 
first  moment  she  had  ever  seen  him,  had  she 
yielded  up  all  her  soul,  her  every  thought,  to 
him !  Even  if  he  were  to  trample  hereunder 
his  foot,  even  then  she  could  not  leave  him. 
Did  she  wander  in  the  garden  \  bending  down 
her  head,  she  sought  for  some  bright  unearthly 
flower.  Her  little  glancing  feet  were  entan- 
gled in  the  silken  grass;  returning  home,  she 
murmured  to  herself—"  All  the  flowers,  the  fair 
flowers,  I  have  seen  ;  but  one  flower  I  have  not 
found,  the  fair  scarlet  flower  of  mine  !  Is  it, 
then,  withered  by  the  hot  sun  I  Or  is  it  beaten 
down  by  the  rushing  rain  !  Or  doth  it  not  grow 
a't  all  in  the  garden  ! "  Neither  sports,  nor  dance, 
nor  songs,  could  distract  her  sorrow.  In  the 
midst  of  the  choral  dance  she  beheld  the  beloved 
stranger.  Did  one  of  her  companions  press  her 
hand,  she  trembled  ;  the  song  but  lighted  up  the 
fire  in  her  heart,  and  filled  it  with  fresh  sorrow. 
Without  hope,  without  a  sweet  future,  she  only 
desired  to  liberate  herself  from  her  intolerable 
enchantment.  But  she  dared  not  speak  about 
her  sorrows  to  any  being  on  the  earth.  Hav- 
ing sinned  only  in  love  for  the  heretic,  she  often 
melted  into  tears  in  the  midst  of  her  devotions, 
beat  her  breast,  and  did  penance  for  grievous 
sin  ot  which  she  herself  was  guiltless. 

The  nurse  had  remarked  that  her  foster-child 
was  pining  away  with  some  secret  sorrow,  that 
her  face  grew  paler.  Her  father,  too,  began  to 
observe  it.  They  sent  to  consult  the  old  wise 
women ;  they  told  fortunes,  they  tried  to  discov- 
er Anastasia's  cause  of  sorrow  with  water, 
with  coals,  with  Thursday  sail;  they  brought 
out  the  mysterious  circles  on  the  doors  ;  they 
placed  charms  beneath  the  images  in  the  Church 
of  the  Nine  Martyrs.  The  fortune-tellers  at 
last  decided  that  she  was  pining  for  a  future 
husband,  whom  some  enemy  had  crossed. 
There  was  abundance  of  suitors  ;  some  seemed 
not  much  to  the  boyarin's  taste — it  is  true  she 
was  his  only  daughter,  alone  to  him,  like  the  sun 
in  heaven  ;  others  were  deterred  by  marriage- 
brokers,  previously  bribed  by  Mamon.  "  Ana- 
stasia Vassilievna  hath  faults,"  they  said  ;  "  she 
hath  a  birthmark,  here  a  freckle,  there  a  scar; 
she  is  frequently  attacked  by  blindness ;  she 
groweth  old  ;  she  cannot  live  long."  It  was 
impossible  to  bring  these  allegations  to  ocular 
proof;  the  suitors  believed  the  words  of  the 
marriage-broker,  and  held  their  peace.  The  fa- 
ther and  the  nurse  had  recourse  to  pilgrimages  ; 
they  set  up  tapers  before  the  altars,  lighted  an 
ever-burning  lamp,  gave  abundant  alms  to  the 
poor,  and  all  with  the  single  hope  of  relieving 
their  darling  Nastia,  the  ligiit  of  their  eyes, 
from  the  influence  of  the  wicked  man  who  had 
crossed  her  happy  marriage. 

The  widow  Seli'nova  had  been  informed  by 
the  fortune-tellers  with  whom  she  was  acquaint- 
ed, and  by  the  companions  of  Anastasia,  of  her 
illness.  Having  reviewed  in  her  crafty  mind  the 
feelings  of  the  heart,  and  the  results  of  experi- 
ence, she  began  to  guess  that  there  was  in  all 
this  an  undivulged  secret.     To  discover  this, 


108 


THE    HERETIC. 


and  to  obtain  Anastasia's  confidence — this  was 
what  she  determined  on  doing,  cost  what  it 
might.  By  marriage  she  was  a  distant  relation 
of  Obrazetz's.  When  she  became  a  widow, 
she  rarely  visited  the  voevoda's  house,  as  if  to 
guard  against  the  dangerous  assiduities  of  Kha- 
bar :  she  was  so  young — she  might  yet  look 
forward  to  a  second  marriage,  and  her  good 
name  was  so  precious  !  ...  In  society  she  was 
a  msdel  of  reserve,  never  let  drop  an  indiscreet 
word  ;  never  raised  her  eyes  before  a  man  ; 
blushed  deeply  at  the  sound  of  an  incautious 
word.  Mothers  often  set  her  as  an  example 
before  their  daughters.  But  this  exterior  re- 
serve was  changed  into  passionate  devotion, 
when  in  private  with  her  chosen  lover.  All 
was  for  him  the  voluptuous  joys  of  the  night 
and  by  day  the  sweet  remembrance  of  them  ; 
the  hope  of  future  pleasures,  and  every  kind  of 
sacrifice  that  could  be  exacted  from  her  by  a 
fiery  youth  who  was  a  tyrant  in  love,  or  could 
be  imagined  for  his  gratification.  In  such 
cases  love  is  a  wondrous  creator.  Compared 
with  love  what  is  Byron,  Mitzkcvitch,  or 
Poushkin]  All  gifts  were  laid  down  by  the 
worshipper  at  the  foot  of  the  idol— gold,  peace 
of  mind,  beauty.  But  the  careless  and  dissi- 
pated Khabar,  could  he  confine  his  victory  to 
one  object  !  Such  a  victory  would  have  been 
for  him  nothing  but  a  slavery  !  "  Free  arm, 
free  will,  and  free  heart,"  was  his  motto.  Away 
with  every  obstacle  from  his  path  ! — nay,  he 
would  have  overthrown  whomsoever  had  placed 
one  in  it ;  try  but  to  cast  a  chain  over  him,  he 
would  dash  it  off  with  a  giant's  force.  He  saw 
danger  in  his  amour  with  Haidee,  and  pursued 
that  arnour  despite  the  watchfulness  of  the  des- 
pot of  the  Morea,  perhaps  at  the  dagger's  point 
—a  dagger  sharpened  by  the  power  of  gold. 
To-morrow  he  might  lose  his  head,  but  to-day 
he  would  enjoy  his  will.  When  Seh'nova  learned 
that  she  had  a  rival  in  his  heart,  that  the  sacri- 
fices of  another  were  more  welcome,  jealousy 
inflamed  her.  At  first  she  tried  to  recall  his 
love  by  new  caresses,  new  sacrifices.  Like  an 
abject  slave,  she  bore  cruel  usage — even  blows 
— from  him.  To  whom  would  she  not  have 
had  recourse  in  order  to  recall  her  faithless 
lover  ? — to  the  witches,  to  the  Jew  who  pos- 
sessed the  book  of  Adam,  and  to  the  leech  An- 
tony !  She  had  even  sunk  so  far  as  to  entreat 
the  aid  of  the  interpreter  Bartholomew.  Like 
a  simple  child  she  was  ready  to  confide  even  in 
those  whom  she  knew  to  be  mocking  her,  and 
to  do  as  they  counselled  her.  But  when  all 
these  means  failed,  she  determined,  whatever  it 
might  cost,  to  destroy  her  rival  We  have  seen 
that  this  attempt  did  not  succeed.  She  now 
determined  on  revenging  herself  on  Khabar 
with  any  weapons  which  she  could  find  ;  and 
for  this,  taking  advantage  of  his  absence,  she 
crept  like  a  snake  into  ObrazfHz's  house.  Tier 
dwelling  was  close  to  that  of  Ana.stasia's  father, 
and  her  visits  became  frequent. 

The  Imyarin  knew,  and  desired  to  know  no- 
thing of  his  son's  connexions.  He  was  grieved 
by  Ills  dissipated  conduct,  and  sometimes  re- 
proached him,  in  the  hope,  as  we  have  said  in 
a  former  chapter,  that  the  young  steed  would 
gradually  lose  the  vice  of  his  blood.  But  the 
single  exhortation  which  he  had  adilressed  to 
him  at  parting,  had,  in  reality,  produced  a  great- 


er effect  than  any  number  of  angry  remon- 
strances. When  he  saw  the  widow  Sehnova 
in  his  house,  he  led  her,  with  simple  greetings, 
to  his  daughter,  as  a  sensible  and  discreet  com- 
panion. At  each  fresh  visit,  she  insinuated  her- 
self further  into  Anastasia's  confidence.  Now 
she  would  invent  some  new  sport  in  the  gar- 
dens, then  she  would  teach  her  songs,  the  feel- 
ing of  which  harmonized  with  the  temper  of 
Anastasia's  soul,  or  show  her  ingenious  pat- 
terns for  her  lace- work,  or  spread  for  her  the 
flying  carpet  of  the  fairy  tale.  And,  in  spite  of 
yourself,  you  would  listen  to  Selinova ;  her 
simple  conversation  was  always  made  up  of 
fragments  of  song  ;  how  could  you  but  listen, 
when  she  spoke  only  to  please  I  In  the  mean 
time  the  widow  tried  cautiously,  artfully,  to  dis- 
cover whether  the  maiden's  heart  beat  for  any 
of  the  young  neighbours  wliom  she  might  have 
seen  through  the  garden  fence ;  but  she  ascer- 
tained that  none  of  the  young  dandies  of  that 
day,  with  their  hair  cut  round,  had  fascinated 
Obrazetr's  daughter.  Next,  she  turned  the 
conversation  on  Ivan  the  young.  It  was  noto- 
rious that  Anastasia  had  inspired  the  prince,, 
the  heir  to  the  throne  of  Muscovy,  with  a  pas- 
sion which  had  been  destroyed  by  the  Great 
Prince's  projects  ;  he  never  seeking  in  the 
marriages  of  his  children  a  union  of  the  heart, 
but  a  political  advantage.  "  Did  she  not  regret 
such  a  handsome,  noble  young  bridegroom  ; 
was  she  not  pining  for  a  palace  and  the  glitter 
of  a  crown  V  thought  Selinova.  And  after 
making  a  trial  in  this  direction,  she  remained 
uncertain,  like  the  hero  of  our  fairy  tales  at  the 
crossing  of  several  roads,  not  knowing  which 
to  take  in  order  to  arrive  at  the  object  of  his 
journey.  Anastasia  had  altogether  forgotten 
the  prince.  His  passion  had  always  been  con- 
sidered by  her  as  a  pleasantry  :  and  even  now 
she  received  the  mention  of  him  as  little  else 
than  a  jest.  It  was,  neve-rtheless,  impossible- 
to  doubt  that  it  was  the  heart  and  not  the  bod- 
ily health  of  Obrazetz's  daughter,  that  was  af- 
fected. Selinova's  experienced  eye  soon  dis- 
tinguished this.  Who  could  be  the  object  of 
her  love  ?  The  wily  widow  was  tormented 
with  the  desire  of  finding  out  this. 

One  day,  they  were  silting  alone  together, 
making  lace.  A  kind  of  mischievous  spirit 
whispered  her  to  speak  of  the  heretic.  Imagine 
yourself  thrown  by  destiny  on  a  foreign  land. 
All  around  you  are  speaking  in  an  unknown 
tongue  ;  their  language  appears  to  you  a  chaos 
of  wild,  strange  sounds.  Suddenly,  amid  tl>e 
crowd  drops  a  word  in  your  native  language. 
Does  not  then  a  thrill  run  over  your  whole  be- 
ing !  does  not  your  heart  leap  within  youl  Or 
place  a  Russian  peasant  at  a  concert  where  is 
displayed  all  the  creative  luxury  and  all  the  bril-^ 
liant  difficulties  of  foreign  music.  The  child  of 
nature  listens  witli  indifference  to  the  incom- 
prehensible sounds  ;  but  suddenly  Vorobieva 
wKh  her  nightingale  voice  trills  oat.— The  cuc- 
koo from  out  the  firs  so  dank  hath  not  curkoncd. 
Lo(»k  what  a  change  comes  over  the  half-asleep 
listener.  Thus  it  was  with  Anastasia  !  Till 
this  moment  Selinova  had  spoken  to  her  in  a 
strange  language,  had  only  uttered  sounds  unin- 
telligible to  her ;  but  the  instant  that  she  spoke 
the  >ii)/ive  word,  it  touched  the  heart-string,  and 
all  the  chords  of  her  being  thrilled  as  if  they 


THE   HERETIC. 


109 


\vere  about  to  burst.  Anastasia  trembled,  her 
Viands  wandered  vaguely  over  her  lace  cushion, 
lier  face  turned  deadly  pale.  She  dared  not 
raise  her  eyes,  and  replied  at  random,  absently. 
"Ah!"  thought  Selinova,  "that  is  the  right 
Ley  :  that  is  the  point  whence  cometh  the 
storm  !" 

Both  remained  silent.  At  length  Anastasia 
ventured  to  glance  at  her  visitor,  in  order  to  see 
by  the  expression  of  her  face,  whether  she  had 
remarked  her  confusion.  Selinova's  eyes  were 
iixed  upon  her  work,  on  her  face  there  was  not 
^ven  a  shade  of  suspicion.  The  crafty  widow 
intended  little  by  little,  imperceptibly,  to  win  the 
>confidence  of  the  inexperienced  girl. 

"  And  where  then  is  he  gonel"  she  asked  af- 
ter a  short  pause,  without  naming  the  person 
about  whom  she  was  enquiring. 

"He  is  gone  with  the  Great  Prince  on  the 
■campaign,"  answered  Anastasia  blushing  ;  then, 
after  a  moment's  thought,  she  added — "  I  sup- 
pose thou  askedst  me  about  my  brother  1" 

"  No,  my  dear,  our  conversation  was  about 
Antony  the  leech.  What  a  pity  he  is  a  heretic  ! 
You  will  not  easily  find  such  another  gallant 
among  our  Muscovites.  He  hath  all,  both 
both  height  and  beauty  :  when  he  looketh,  'tis 
as  though  he  gave  you  large  pearls  ;  his  locks 
lie  on  his  shoulders  like  the  light  of  dawn  ;  he 
is  as  white  and  rosy  as  a  young  maiden.  I 
u-onder  whence  he  had  such  beauty — whether 
•by  the  permission  of  God,  or,  not  naturally,  by 
"'the  influence  of  the  Evil  One.  I  could  have 
Booked  at  him — may  it  not  be  a  sin  to  say,  I 
could  have  gazed  at  him  for  ever  without  being 
weary  !" 

At  these  praises  Anastasia's  pale  counten- 
ance blushed  like  the  dawning  that  heralds  the 
tempest.  "Thou  hast  then  seen  him  T'  asked 
the  enamoured  maiden,  in  a  trembling,  dying 
voice,  and  breaking  off  her  work. 

"  I  have  seen  him  more  than  once.  On  the 
.steed  doth  he  ride  I  'Neath  him  frets  the  steed 
with  pride.  Doth  he  gallop?  What  is  the 
■whirlwind  in  the  desert  plain  !  He  seemeth  to 
■snort  fire — that  steed  ;  and  devour  the  earth 
with  speed.  Doth  he  ride  along  the  mead  1 
'Neath  his  tread  new  verdure  gleameth  ;  o'er 
the  stream  to  his  embrace,  to  rush  it  seemeth. 
I  have  not  only  seen  him,  but  wonder  now,  my 
dear — I  have  visited  him  in  his  dwelling!" 

The  maiden  shook  her  head  ;  her  eyes  were 
►dimmed  with  the  shade  of  pensiveness  ;  a  thrill 
•of  jealousy,  in  spite  of  herself,  darted  to  her 
iheart.  "  Whati  and  didst  thou  not  fear  to  go 
tt.0  him  ]"  she  said — "  Is  he  not  a  heretic  1" 

"  If  thou  knewest  it,  Nastenka,  what  wouldst 
thou  not  do  for  love  1" 

"Lovel"  ....  exclaimed  Anastasia,  and  her 
lieart  bounded  violently  in  her  breast. 

"  Ah  !  if  I  were  not  afraid,  I  would  disclose  to 
thee  the  secret  of  my  soul." 

"  Speak,  I  pray  thee  speak  !  Fear  not  ;  see  ! 
I  call  the  Mother  of  God  to  witness,  thy  words 
shall  die  with  me." 

And  the  maiden  with  a  quivering  hand,  sign- 
ed a  large  cross. 

"  If  so,  I  will  confide  to  thee  what  I  have 
never  disclosed  but  to  God.  It  is  not  over  one 
blue  sea  alone  that  the  mist  lieth,  and  the  dark- 
some cloud  ;  it  is  not  over  one  fair  land  de- 
scendeth  the  gloomy  autumn  night ;  there  was 


a  time  when  my  bosom  was  loaded  with  a  heavy- 
sorrow,  my  rebellious  heart  lay  drowned  in  woe 
and  care  :  I  loved  thy  brother,  Ivan  Vassilie- 
vitch.  (The  maiden's  heart  was  relieved,  she 
breathed  more  freely.)  Thou  knowest  not,  my 
life,  my  child,  what  kind  of  feeling  is  that  of 
love,  and  God  grant  that  thou  mayest  never 
know  !  The  dark  niglit  cometh,  thou  canst  not 
close  thine  eyes  ;  the  bright  dawn  breaketh, 
thou  meetest  it  with  tears  ;  and  the  day  is  all 
weary — 0,  so  we?ry  !  There  are  many  men  in 
the  fair  world,  but  thou  see'st  only  one,  in  thy 
bower,  in  the  street,  in  the  house  of  God.  A 
stone  lieth  ever  on  thy  breast,  and  thou  canst 
not  shake  it  off." 

Then  Selinova  wept  sincere  tears.  Her  com- 
panion listened  to  her  with  eager  sympathy ; 
the  feelings  just  depicted  were  her  own. 

"  Now,"  continued  the  young  widow,  address- 
ing herself  to  her  object,  "  I  was  told  by  good 
people — '  Antony  the  leech,'  they  said,  '  is  come 
from  Almayne  ;  he  cureth,  they  say,  all  manner 
of  diseases,  of  the  Evil  Eye,  and  of  the  wind, 
and  of  our  own  folly.'  I  listened  to  these  good 
friends,  and  went  to  the  leech  with  the  inter- 
preter Bartholomew." 

"  And  'What  help  did  our  Antony  give  thee  V 
"  He  gave  me  an  herb,  muttered  something 
over  it,  and  ordered  me  to  throw  it  over  my 
head.  Wilt  thou  believe  me,  my  dear,  it  reliev- 
ed me  like  a  charm?  my  breast  felt  light,  my 
heart  gay.  Then  the  heretic  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  me,  and  I  felt  his  gaze  drawing  me  to- 
wards him.  But  I  implored  him  to  let  my  soul, 
go  free,  and  he  took  pity  on  me,  and  let  me  go. 
From  that  instant  I  began  again  to  know  what 
was  night,  what  day  ;  my  vision  left  me.  I 
flew  away  like  a  liberated  bird  ;  I  sing  from 
morn  till  night,  and  laugh  at  my  past  sorrow." 
This  insiduous  tale  began  to  act  with  a  won- 
drous influence  on  the  listener.  Anastasia  fell 
into  a  profound  reverie,  began  to  entangle  her 
bobbins  and  to  make  strange  patterns  ;  just  such 
as  her  favourite  cat  w'ould  have  executed  if 
she  had  been  set  to  work  lace.  How  could  she 
escape  the  dreadful  weight  of  anguish  which 
was  devouring  her,  thought  she ;  and  she  had 
determined  on  consulting  with  Selinova,  when 
suddenly  her  friend  had  seemed  to  guess  her 
very  cause  of  sorrow.  There  was  a  deep  si- 
lence.    It  was  broken  by  the  young  widow. 

"  Nastenka,  my  life  1"  she  began  in  a  tone  of 
such  touching,  such  lively  interest,  as  called  for 
her  reluctant  confidence. 

The  daughter  of  Obrazetz  glanced  at  her  with 
eyes  full  of  tears,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Confide  in  me,  as  I  have  confided  in  thee," 
continued  Selinova,  taking  her  hand  and  press- 
ing it  to  her  bosom.  I  have  lived  longer  in  the 
world  than  thou  ....  believe  me,  'twill  give 
thee  ease  ....  'tis  clear  from  every  symptom, 
my  love,  what  thou  ailest." 

And  Anastasia,  sobbing,  exclaimed  at  last — 
"  0,  my  love,  my  dearest  friend,  Praskovia  Val- 
dimirovna,  take  a  sharp  knife,  open  my  white 
breast,  look  what  is  the  matter  there  !" 

"  And  wherefore  need  we  take  the  sharp 
knife,  and  wherefore  need  we  open  the  white 
breast,  or  look  upon  the  rebellious  heart? 
Surely,  by  thy  fair  face  all  can  tell,  my  child, 
how  that  fair  face  hath  been  darkened,  how  the 
fresh  bloom  hath  faded,  and  bright  eyes  grown 


no 


THE   HERETIC. 


dull.  After  all,  'tis  clear  thou  lovest  some 
wandering  falcon,  some  stranger  youth." 

Anastasia  answered  not  a  word  ;  she  could 
not  speak  for  tears,  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands.  At  last,  softened  by  Selinova's  friendly 
sympathy,  and  her  assurances  that  she  would 
be  easier  if  she  would  confide  her  secret  to  such 
a  faithful  friend,  she  related  her  love  for  the 
heretic  The  episode  of  the  crucifix  was  omit- 
ted in  this  tale,  which  finished,  of  course,  with 
assurances  that  she  was  enclfanted,  bewitched. 

Poor  Anastasia,' 

Snowdrop!  beautiful  flower,  thou  springest 
up  alone  in  the  bosom  of  thy  native  valley  ! 
And  the  bright  sun  arises  every  day  to  glass 
liimself  in  thy  morning  mirror  ;  and  the  beam- 
ing moon,  after  a  sultry  day,  hastens  to  fan  thee 
with  her  breezy  wing ;  and  the  angels  of  God, 
lulling  thee  by  night,  spread  over  thee  a  starry 
canopy,  such  as  king  never  possessed.  Who 
can  tell  from  what  quarter  the  tempest  may 
bring  from  afar,  from  other  lands,  the  seed«  of 
the  ivy,  and  scatter  them  by  thy  side ;  and  the 
ivy  arises  and  twines  lovingly  around  thee,  and 
chokes  thee,  lovely  flower !  This  is  not  all : 
the  worm  has  crawled  to  thy  root,  hath  fixed 
its  fang  tlierein,  and  kills  ye  both,  if  some  kind 
hand  save  ye  not. 

The  crafty  friend  had  triumphed  ;  the  great, 
the  precious  secret  was  hers.  With  this  talis- 
man the  enchantress  might  perform  wondrous 
things.  She  had  but  to  wave  it,  and  the  secret 
thought  would  swell  above  the  brink.  The  first 
idea  that  arose  was  that  of  persuading  Anasta- 
sia that  she  really  was  enchanted.  How  was 
she  to  be  set  free  from  that  enchantment,  to 
whom  was  she  to  have  recourse,  if  not  to  the 
author  of  it  ]  He  would  perhaps  take  pity  on 
the  unhappy  maiden,  and  save  her  from  intoler- 
able sorrow,  as  he  had  delivered  Selinova. 
Anastasia  herself  had  more  than  once  thought 
of  this.  Upon  this  they  agreed  as  well  as  pos- 
sible. But  how  was  the  daughter  of  Obrazulz 
to  visit  the  leech  ?  How  was  she  to  manage  so 
as  to  escape  the  notice  of  the  domestics  and 
neighbours  ]  She  would  die  at  the  very  thought 
of  their  knowing  of  her  proceeding.  The  zeal- 
ous mediatress  would  arrange  all  this.  From 
Anastasia's  chamber  a  staircase  led  to  ttie  iron 
door  wiiich  divided  the  heretic's  from  the  boya- 
rin's  quarter :  this  door  was  fastened  with  a 
single  iron  bolt.  A  favourable  moment  would 
arrive— father,  brother,  would  be  from  home  ; 
Selinova  would  stand  on  guard,  and  all  would 
go  well.  Anastasia  would  present  herself  be- 
fore Antony  the  leech,  would  fall  at  his  feet, 
bedew  them  with  her  tears  .  .  .  The  enchant- 
ment would  be  removed  —  and  the  beautiful 
maiden  would  dart  from  his  chamber  to  her 
bower,  as  the  l)ird  which  a  greedy  raven  was 
about  to  clutcii,  and  to  whicli  new  wings  had 
suddenly  been  given,  speeds  lightly  and  gaily 
away,  and  pours  forth  her  soul  in  songs  of  vir- 
gin happmess.  Tlie  very  reflection  upon  these 
projects  was  a  great  relief  to  the  mind  of  Anas- 
tasia. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 


THE    ENCHANTMENT    LOOSED. 

"  This  dark  woe  of  mine  hath  no  wings  to  flv. 

This  poor  soul  of  mine  hath  no  voice  to  cry, 

This  lorn  love  of  mine  hath  no  will  to  die." 

MERZLiAK6rr. 
Anastasia  was  for  a  while  consoled  by  the 
thought  that  the  enchantment  would  be  re- 
moved. Then  the  fair  image  of  the  foreigner 
began  again  to  force  its  way  into  her  bosom, 
and  her  hope  began  to  yield  to  her  former  sor- 
row. It  seemed  as  if  there  was  traced  around 
her  a  magic  circle,  out  of  which  she  could  not 
pass.  She  was,  she  thought,  imprisoned  in  it 
till  the  grave.  Now,  all  her  thoughts  were  on 
the  dear  heretic  ;  all  her  employment  was  to 
await  his  return.  She  had  grown  accustomed 
to  his  name,  she  no  longer  dreaded  it ;  it  had 
become  as  sweet  to  her  as  the  name  of  father 
or  brother,  nay,  perhaps  yet  dearer  still.  She 
sat  cowering  at  the  window  of  her  chamber, 
and  gazed  afar,  to  see  whether  the  Great  Prince's 
attendants  were  galloping  from  Tver.  With  a 
trembling  of  the  heart  she  listened  to  conversa- 
tion :  did  not  some  one  speak  of  the  heretic  T 
She  even  listened  to  the  voice  of  the  breeze  : 
did  not  the  midnight  breeze  bring  some  news 
of  him  T  He,  the  sovereign  of  her  heart,  was 
unceasingly  in  her  thoughts  ;  of  him  she  held  in 
secret  long  dialogues  with  herself,  and  longed 
for  father,  domestics,  the  people,  all  the  universe, 
to  talk  also  of  Antony.  And  yet  she  heard 
nothing  of  him  from  any  one.  Did  a  horseman 
gallop  by,  or  knock  at  the  gate,  she  trembled 
like  an  autumnal  leaf  upon  the  bough.  She 
rose  to  meet  the  day ;  she  passed  it  in  waiting 
for  the  stranger.  Untaught  by  reason  to  gov- 
ern her  feelings,  she  gave  herself  up  entirely  to 
the  will  of  passion.  With  tears,  in  reverie,  she- 
besought  the  <1ear  .\ntony  to  return,  soon,  soon, 
and  save  her  from  destruction  ;  she  feared  not 
the  sin  of  imploring  the  heavenly  powers  for 
him,  she  bluslied  not  to  express  her  agonizing 
impatience  to  her  crafty  friend. 

Tver  was  not  yet  completely  taken,  ere  in 
Moscow  men  were  talking  of  its  submission. 
Who  had  brought  the  tidings,  nobody  could  tell ; 
so  frequently  has  a  nation  a  sort  of  miraculous 
presentiment  of  great  events.  Within  four- 
and-twenty  hours,  a  courier  had  galloped  from 
the  Lord  of  .\ll  Russia  to  Sophia  Phomlnishna 
and  the  primate  with  the  confirmation  of  the 
tidings.  Moscow  burst  into  triumphal  rejoic- 
ings. The  elder  sister  had  come  with  an  hum- 
ble head  to  join  the  once  scattered  family,  and 
to  double  its  union  and  its  strength.  Accord- 
ing to  the  pious  custom  of  the  Russians,  tribute 
was  first  rendered  to  God — a  thanksgiving  ser- 
vice was  performed  ;  then  to  the  Tsar.  When 
Sophia  Phomi'nishna  came  forth  from  the 
Church  of  the  .Vnnunciation,  the  populace  hail- 
ed her  with  joyful  acclamations.  In  the  streets 
they  embraced  ,  they  congratulated  each  other, 
they  besieged  the  courier,  and  would  not  let  him 
pass,  demanding  the  details  of  the  great  event 
— when,  how,  Tver  was  taken,  who  had  laid 
down  their  lives  for  mother  Moscow,  who  had 
distinguished  themselves  by  valour.  We  may 
guess,  that  in  the  fulness  of  their  joy — and  this 
was  also  a  Russian  custom— in  all  parts  of  the 
city  there  were  many  who  celebrated  the  vic- 
tory in  a  state  of  insensibility  ;  that  is,  by  drains- 


THE    HERETIC 


111- 


ing  cup  and  flagon  till  they  could  no  longer  re- 
member any  thing.  The  courier  was  invited  to 
a  multitude  of  houses,  was  feasted  and  honour- 
ed as  if  it  was  he  who  had  gained  the  victory. 

In  his  tales  the  name  of  Khabar  was  repeat- 
ed more  frequently  than  that  of  all  the  rest, 
and  repeated  as  the  name  of  an  illustrious  he- 
ro. The  volunteers  came  next,  in  the  most  hon- 
ourable line  of  the  oral  bulletin.  "  Wc,  too,  are 
something  !"  said  the  cloth-workers  and  silk- 
merchants  in  their  shops  and  warehouses,  draw- 
ing themselves  up,  and  stroking  their  beards 
with  vanity—"  We  are  not  trampled  in  the  dirt : 
we  have  taken  Tver."  Some  heartily  congrat- 
ulated them  as  the  real  victors,  bowing  to  the 
ground;  others  thought  proper  to  contest  their 
triumph,  and  engaged  with  them  in  brawls  of 
their  fashion,  which  went  so  far  as  the  spilling 
of  blood,  and  even  killing.  The  name  of  An- 
drei Aristotle,  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  flew 
also,  with  honour,  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
"What  a  brave  boy  !"  cried  the  old  men  when 
they  heard  of  his  exploits :  "  bold,  though  not 
old,  he  will  not  wait  for  years  to  be  a  leader  of 
the  spears." — "  No  wonder  for  his  bravery," 
added  others ;  "  his  father  hath  plucked  some 
apples  for  him  in  the  devil's  garden  :  throw  but 
one  among  a  troop,  and  straightway  the  troop 
hath  vanished.  They  say,  besides,  '  that  Anto- 
ny the  leech  made  a  circle  round  him,  and  he 
can  have  no  hurt  either  from  fire  or  the  ene- 
my's arrows.'  "  More  than  all  the  rest  did  this 
news  delight  the  heart  of  the  old  voevoda, 
Obrazelz.  The  courier,  immediately  after  leav- 
ing the  palace  of  the  primate,  presented  himself 
before  him  with  the  gracious  word  from  the 
Lord  of  All  Russia,  and  his  best  thanks  to  the 
lather  for  the  son.  This  time  nature  conquer- 
ed firmness,  and  the  old  man's  face  was  be- 
dewed with  tears.  Never  had  his  own  glory 
flattered  him  so  much,  as  the  renown  his  son 
had  gained.  First  in  his  own  oratory,  and  then 
in  the  house  of  God,  he  laid  the  trophies  of  his 
son  before  the  cross  of  Him  by  whom  death  it- 
self was  vanquished,  and  under  whose  protec- 
tion had  been  obtained  those  triumphs  by  a 
warrior  so  dear  to  his  heart. 

Then  the  messengers  of  the  Great  Prince 
began  incessantly  to  enter  Moscow ;  the  dust 
did  not  rest  a  moment  in  the  streets  of  the  city. 
The  dvoretzkoi  also  arrived  with  his  train.  As 
soon  as  he  had  finished  his  duties  at  the  Great 
Prince's  palace,  he  paid  a  visit  to  his  sick  friend, 
whom  he  found  almost  on  his  death-bed,  dread- 
fully disfigured,  but  still  entertaining  hopes  of 
recovery.  Disease  and  disappointment  at  hav- 
ing failed  to  obtain  the  mandrake,  which  had 
been  just  within  his  reach,  had  added  new  fe- 
rocity even  to  the  savage  soul  of  Mamon.  Nev- 
er had  the  fever  of  revenge  so  fiercely  burned 
in  his  heart.  When  he  heard  of  Khabar's  .suc- 
cesses, his  face  was  horribly  convulsed.  When, 
too,  the  dvoretzkoi  told  him  the  news,  that  the 
Great  Prince  intended  to  give  Obrazelz's  daugh- 
ter to  the  Tsarevitch  Karakatcha,  he  started  up 
for  the  first  time  from  his  sick  bed  and  yelled 
out— "As  God  see'th,  while  I  live  that  shall 
never  be  I  They  would  not  give  her  to  my  son, 
and  she  shall  remain  a  maid  for  ever.  She  may 
take  the  vows ;  she  may  bury  herself  alive  in 
the  earth.  What  care  I  !— she  shall  never 
wed !     Look,  my  friend,  on  me,  on  my  son  ; 


this  is  all  thrAr  doing."  The  son  of  Mamon, 
who  was  standing  by  the  bedside,  was  as  pal» 
as  death  ;  from  his  quivering  chest  there  sounds 
ed  ever  and  anon  the  hollow  cough  which  is  the 
presage  of  death— the  echo  from  a  tomb. 

In  obedience  to  the  boyarin's  orders,  his  ser- 
vants brought  him  his  richest  cups  and  flagons. 
Without  speaking  a  single  word,  he  placed  them 
in  the  dvoretzkoi's  bosom,  in  his  pockets — 
wherever  he  could.  The  latter  would  not  take 
them,  refused  to  accept  them,  thanked  him  j 
again  refused,  and  accepted  them  nevertheless^ 
He  comprehended  his  friend,  and  left  him,  bear^ 
ing  off  a  speechless  but  eloquent  pledge  of  ven- 
geance. 

A  new  visitor  brought  comfort  to  the  agitated 
soulofMam6n.  This  was  Selinova.  She  had 
beaten  a  pathway  in  her  dark  intercourse  be- 
tween the  two  enemies'  houses.  Long  had  sha 
hesitated  whether  to  relate  the  story  of  Anas- 
tasia's  enchantment :  but  the  thought  of  Kha- 
bar's insults  and  infidelity,  the  thought  that  h& 
would  soon  return  and  be  by  Haidee's  side — by 
her  side,  joyous,  triumphant  over  all  —  this 
thought  had  vanquished  the  feelings  of  compas- 
sion, excited  in  her  mind  by  her  conscience  and 
the  affection  of  the  enamoured  girl.  She  rela- 
ted to  Mamon  all  that  she  had  learned  respect- 
ing the  maiden's  inclination  for  the  heretic. 
Wickedness  has  its  moments  of  delight.  Ma- 
mon laughed  a  bitter  laugh  when  he  received 
the  astounding  information  which  had  fallen, 
upon  him  so  unexpectedly. 

"Our  Lord  the  Great  Prince  is  come!"  re- 
sounded through  the  city,  and  in  every  quarter 
of  the  town  arose  a  murmur  as  in  the  beehive 
when  the  queen  returns,  having  flown  away  to 
wander  free,  far  from  her  watchful  guard.  "  The. 
Lord  Great  Prince  is  come!"  was  repeated  in 
the  palace  of  Obrazetz,  and  Anastasia's  heart 
beat  with  expectation.  It  was  not  her  brother 
whom  she  was  awaiting :  with  respect  to  Kha- 
bar, a  message  had  been  sent  to  her  father  that,, 
at  the  command  of  Ivan  Vassflievitch,  he  would 
remain  for  a  time  at  Tver,  in  attendance  upoa 
Ivan  the  Young.  All  trembling,  she  sat  at  the 
window  of  her  chamber.  And  see  !  at  last  a 
horseman  gallops  up  to  the  palace ;  he  halts  at 
the  heretic's  quarter.  At  his  knock  upon  the 
gate,  Antony's  attendant  opens  it,  stops,  and 
gazes  for  some  time  at  the  stranger,  and  then 
eagerly  hastens  to  make  his  obeisance  to  him. 

That  is  not  Antony.  He  was  in  the  German 
mantle,  his  bright  locks  falling  in  curls  upon  his 
shoulders ;  but  this  was  a  young  man  with  his 
hair  cut  round,  in  the  Russian  dress,  in  helmefe 
and  cuirass.  His  cheeks  seem  to  glow  ;  he  is 
covered  with  dust  from  head  to  foot.  In  the 
mean  time  the  attendant  takes  his  horse,  waits, 
upon  him  as  upon  his  master,  and  makes  a  sign 
that  he  can  enter  his  dwelling.  Through  the 
aperture  of  the  hardly  opened  window  Anastasia 
follows  the  unknown  with  her  eyes.  She  knows 
not  what  to  think  of  his  appearance  in  place  of 
Antony  the  leech.  But  see  !  he  stops  on  the 
steps,  doffs  his  casque,  decorated  with  a  green 
branch  and  with  a  parrot's  plume,  wipes  his 
face  with  a  handkerchief,  and  lingers  on  the 
staircase,  gazing  mournfully  at  the  window  of 
the  chamber.  "Heavens!  'tis  he  !"  cries  Anas- 
tasia, blushing  and  turning  pale.  Yes,  the 
stranger  was  Antony  Ehrenstein  !     Love  had 


112 


THE   HERETIC. 


been  too  strong  for  his  vow  .  he  could  not  per- 
form it,  he  had  been  again  drawn  back  to  that 
enchanted  house,  to  which  was  linked  his  heart 
— his  whole  being. 

"Who  IS  that,  my  child!"  asked  the  nurse, 
entering,  and  surprising  her  foster-child  in  her 
incautious  exclamation. 

"  'Tis  he  ...  .  nurse  ....  Look,  if  my  broth- 
er be  not  come  I"  .  .  .  .  replied  the  terrified  girl, 
Tushing  from  the  window.  Slie  knew  not  what 
she  was  saying;  the  thought,  that  by  her  ex- 
clamation she  might  have  awakened  suspicion 
in  the  nurse's  imagination,  was  the  principal 
cause  of  her  confusion. 

"  There  is  a  young  man  standing  on  the  her- 
etic's staircase,"  said  the  nurse,  shaking  her 
liead  ;  "  but  it  is  not  thy  brother.  See  !  he  hath 
gone  into  Antony  the  leech's  quarter." 

Antony,  on  seeing  the  nurse's  withered  coun- 
••tenance  instead  of  Anastasia's,  hastened  to  en- 
ter his  own  dwelling. 

Tlien  began  a  lecture  addressed  to  the  poor 
girl,  showing  how  dangerous  it  was  to  look  into 
a  strange  court-yard,  how  easily  the  Evil  Eye 
might  take  her,  and,  above  all,  the  eye  of  a  her- 
etic necromancer  :  all  this  enforced  by  various 
popular  texts,  and  confirmed  by  proofs  and  ex- 
amples. It  was  a  real  torment !  Anastasia,  as 
it  was,  was  on  the  rack  ;  now  her  very  suul 
■was  being  lacerated.  "  I  thought  it  was  my 
brother,"  she  said  a  dozen  times  in  excuse,  en- 
treating forgiveness  with  tears.  But  seeing 
that  nothing  could  restrain  the  tremendous  tor- 
rent, which  threatened  to  drown  her,  she  vow- 
ed, in  a  tone  of  despair,  that  she  would  lay  vio- 
lent hands  on  herself  if  the  nurse  did  not  leave 
off  tormenting  her,  and  promise  never  to  betray 
this  circumstance  to  her  father.  These  threats 
acted  like  a  bucket  of  cold  water  on  a  madman, 
%vho  is  whirling  his  head  around,  or  is  about  to 
dash  it  against  a  wall :  the  nurse  held  her  tongue, 
and  promised  with  an  oath  not  to  speak  on  the 
subject  to  the  boyarin.  Nevertheless,  on  the 
first  occasion  of  Anastasia's  going  down  stairs 
to  her  father,  the  fatal  window  was  firmly,  sol- 
idly nailed  up.  In  this  manner  her  chamber 
\vas  rendered  worse  than  a  prison  to  her;  they 
bad  taken  away  her  last  consolation— her  last 
joy.  p'rom  this  time  she  could  not  bear  her 
nurse,  and  drove  her  away  from  her  whenever 
she  appeared.  What  had  become  of  iier  poor 
lieart  and  reason  ?  Severe  measures  to  quell 
licr  feelings  had  only  strengthened  her  love ; 
and  she  fancied  that,  from  tlio  moment  of  An- 
tony's arrival,  the  enchantment  had  acquired  a 
greater,  more  irresistible  power.  Her  torment 
Avas  insupportable  ;  she  was  on  the  point  of  lo- 
sing her  reason,  or,  in  reality,  of  laying  hands 
«in  herself,  as  she  had  threatened  her  nurse. 
^>(!I^'nova,  in  her  visits,  but  lieaped  combustibles 
beneath  the  pile,  which  was  already  inextin- 
fimsbable,  but  cherished  the  unhappy  maiden's 
llii>ui;hl  that  she  was  enchanted.  Notliing  rc- 
inained  but  to  cut  this  knot,  which  Fate  had 
knitted  in  her  destiny. 

In  this  ajiony  of  mind  she  passed  a  week. 
j\nastasia  deciiled  on  the  grievous  but  inevita- 
ble effort.  She  only  awaited  an  opportunity  of 
making  It.  This  opportunity  arrived.  Her  hro- 
tlier  was  not  yet  returned  from  Tver,  her  father 
li;\d  gone  to  feast  with  a  friend  on  the  occasion 
«f  some  fanuly  festival,  her  nurse  had  been  dis- 


patched to  make  some  purchases  in  the  shops  ; 
the  leech  was  at  home — this  fact  was  proved 
by  the  sounds  floating  from  his  chamber,  the 
plaintive  tones  of  his  voice,  and  of  the  ma- 
gic instrument  with  which,  among  other  means, 
he  had  bewitched  the  daughter  of  Obrazetz. 
Her  heart  died  away  in  her  breast,  so  that  she 
could  hardly  breathe.  She  had  determined  on 
going,  and  yet  s'he  feared  to  go.  Bashfulness, 
terror,  love  under  the  disguise  of  indescribable 
sorrow,  long  struggled  in  her  heart,  and  reduced 
her  to  a  feverish  condition.  At  last  a  kind  of 
frenzy  possessed  her  ;  she  determined,  and  dis- 
patched her  tirewoman  to  beg  Selinova  to  come 
to  her.  The  widow  knew  why  she  was  sum- 
moned, and  hastened  to  make  her  appearance. 

The  waiting- women  were  dismissed  to  the 
garden,  to  walk  or  dance. 

Anastasia  offered  her  trembling  hand  to  Seli- 
nova. They  passed  out  of  the  chamber,  and 
descended  a  dark  staircase  leading  to  the  here- 
tic's quarter.  Many  times  did  the  daughter  of 
Obrazetz  entreat  her  companion  to  give  her  a 
moment  to  take  breath  ;  often  did  her  foot  slip 
on  the  stairs. 

Before  them  stood  the  fatal  door. 

Anastasia  stopped;  she  could  hardly  breathe. 
Through  the  chaos  of  her  thoughts  appeared 
one  terrible  idea.  To  whom  was  she  going  ? — 
she,  a  maiden,  the  daughter  of  a  boyarin  !  .  .  .  . 
To  a  man  I  to  a  foreigner  I  If  her  father — her 
brother  were  to  see  her  1  One  glance  from 
them  would  kill  her  on  the  spot.  There  was 
yet  time  to  change  her  mind  ;  she  could  yet  re- 
turn. She  looked  at  her  friend,  as  if  to  implore 
her  aid.  A  ray  of  light  througli  a  chink  of  the 
iron  door  fell  upon  her  face.  Selinova  remark- 
ed her  indecision,  and  at  the  instant  to  hold  the 
weak  half  maddened  girl  on  the  fatal  threshold  ; 
she  drew  back  the  iron  bolt,  the  door  opened 
.  .  .  .  The  crafty  widow  gave  it  a  slight  push 
forward,  and  Anastasia  was  in  the  heretic's 
quarter,  in  the  same  chamber  with  Antony  the 
leech  himself.  .  .  .  Selinova  hurriedly  and  cau- 
tiously concealed  herself  behind  the  door,  so 
that  he  could  not  see  her. 

Antony  had  laid  his  viol  aside,  aijd  was  sit- 
ting, resting  his  elbows  on  the  table,  in  a  pro- 
found reverie.  A  rustle  behind  the  door  caus- 
ed him  to  start.  He  began  to  listen  ....  The 
rustling  behind  the  door  increased.  What 
could  it  mean"!  Was  it  an  attack!  Strange! 
by  daylight!  from  the  boyarin's  quarter!  .... 
His  arms  hung  on  the  wall,  close  to  his  hand  ; 
one  step,  and  he  could  seize  them.  He  had  no- 
thing to  fear  but  force  ....  But  for  what  mo- 
tive !     Was  it  from  hatred  to  a  heretic !  .  .  .  . 

Hark  !  the  holt  grates  ....  the  door  creaks 
.  .  .  .  opens  ....  Heavens!  Anastasia!  .... 
'Tis  herself!  Antony  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise, 
and  clasped  his  hands.  Thunderstruck  at  her 
appearance,  he  had  not  the  power  to  stir  from 
the  spot. 

Anastasia  was  at  his  feet,  entreating  him  for 
something  ....  At  last  he  with  diflicnliy  dis- 
tinguished the  words—"  Mercy  !  have  pity  upon 
me  ....  loose  me  from  the  power  of  the  Evil 
One  ....  I  cannot  bear  it  more  ....  it  is  hea- 
vy ....  it  strangles  me  !"  .  .     . 

The  young  man  raises  her,  takes  her  hand, 
presses  it  in  his  own,  eiilroats  her  to  explain 
herself,  savs  that  it  is  he  who  should  rather  be 


THE    HERETIC. 


113 


at  her  feet ;  and  at  the  same  time,  while  await- 
ing tier  explanation,  relates,  in  the  most  tender, 
the  most  burning  expressions,  his  love,  his  tor- 
ment, and  his  Tears.  Agitated,  in  tears,  ah 
glowing  with  blushes,  she  appears  even  more 
lovely  than  he  had  seen  her  before,  from  afar. 
No.  never  in  his  life,  in  Italy,  in  his  native  land, 
on  the  road  to  Moscow,  had  he  ever  met  a  wo- 
man who  could  bear  even  the  remotest  com- 
parison with  her.  Nowhere  but  in  the  brain 
of  an  artist-poet  could  her  ideal  be  realized. 
He  knows  not  what  he  says  or  what  he  does : 
carried  away  by  his  feelmgs,  he  swears  eternal 
love  to  her,  and  dares  to  imprint  a  kiss  upon  her 
hand. 

And  she  ....  What  had  she  come  to  tell 
him,  what  had  she  come  to  implore  him]  .... 
"Where  was  her  determination,  the  object  of  all 
her  struggles  !  His  voice,  his  words  and  ca- 
resses, had  thrown  all  into  confusion.  She 
forgot  the  past,  she  understood  not  the  present; 
but  that  present  was  so  sweet,  it  thrilled  so  de- 
liciously  through  her  blood,  that  she  would  not 
have  exchanged  it  for  all  the  past  of  her  life. 
Her  tongue  essayed  to  give  him  the  name  of 
enemy  of  God,  magician,  enchanter  ;  but  refused 
to  utter  the  sounds  as  though  they  were  blas- 
phemy. My  life  !  my  joy  !  she  would  have 
said  ;  but  she  could  not,  though  her  heart  in  se- 
cret eonfirmed  the  name.  Her  hand  was  in 
his ;  she  would  have  withdrawn  it,  but  had  not 
the  power.  At  last  she  fell  sobbing  on  his 
breast. 

Antony  clasped  her  in  his  embrace,  seated 
her  on  a  bench,  and  knelt  before  her.  Under- 
standing imperfectly  what  she  meant  by  the 
■words — "power  of  the  Evil  One,"  "magic," 
and  joining  these  words  with  the  reports  which 
had  been  disseminated  about  him  through  Mos- 
cow, he  swore  by  the  Lord  God,  the  Holy  Vir- 
gin, and  all  the  saints,  that  he  was  a  Christian, 
that  he  accounted  magic  as  a  grievous  and 
mortal  sin,  and  had  never  thought  of  casting 
any  glamour  over  her.  As  witnesses  to  his 
truth  he  pointed  to  the  image,  of  Greek  paint- 
ing, which  was  placed  in  his  chamber,  crossed 
himself  in  the  Russian  manner,  drew  forth  from 
his  bosom  and  kissed  a  silver  crucifix,  which 
he  had  begged  Khabar  to  give  him, 

"  I  love  thee  more  than  like  itself,"  he  said 
to  her,  "more  than  the  mother  who  bore  me. 
My  only  joy  is  to  behold  thee,  but  from 
far  :  I  wither  away  like  the  leaf  of  autumn 
without  thee.  Light  of  my  eyes,  my  life  I  I 
would  not  e.xchange  one  glance  of  thine  for  all 
the  heaps  of  gold — for  all  the  wealth  of  the 
Great  Prince — for  the  honours  of  his  boyarins — 
for  all  together.  And  thus  it  is  I  who  am  en- 
chanted ;  it  is  I  upon  whom  the  glamour  is  cast. 
No,  my  dearest,  my  beloved,  this  is  love  and 
not  enchantment.  It  is  God  who  hath  done 
this,  and  not  the  powers  of  evil.  Demand  of 
me  what  thou  wilt,  I  will  give  thee  my  body 
piecemeal,  my  blood  drop  by  drop  ;  command, 
speak  but  the  words,  I  will  perform  it.  Am  I 
hateful  to  thee  1  Order  me  to  fly  to  some  dis- 
tant land — I  will  fly,  and  I  will  haste  away  there 
in  mourning  for  thee ;  but  I  will  perform  thy 
bidding." 

"  No,"  said  Anastasia  with  a  sigh  of  love, 
"remain,  but  take  our  faith." 

She,  to  save  whose  honour  he  would  have 
H 


given  up  his  life,  had  passed  the  threshold  of  a 
man's  chamber;  this  alone  had  thrown  a  spot 
upon  her  virgin  purity.  Antony  saw  the  abyss 
over  which  Fate  had  suspended  an  ine.xperi- 
enced  maiden  and  himself;  they  had  gone  too 
far  to  turn  back,  and — he  gave  his  promise  to 
take  the  Russian  faith.  Her  hand  was  to  be 
the  condition.  To  this  there  was  no  answer ; 
but  he  read  one  in  the  beautiful  eyes,  shadowed 
by  the  veil  of  long  black  lashes,  and  the  blush 
which  flitted  over  her  cheek.  He  encircled  her 
waist  with  his  arm,  and  pressed  her  to  his 
heart.  His  kiss  died  upon  her  lips,  the  kiss  of 
bridegroom  to  bride,  the  kiss  that  affiances  them 
for  life  and  death.  Anastasia  had  not  strength 
to  resist. 

The  door  creaked.  Anastasia  recollected 
herself,  and  tore  herself  from  his  embrace. 

"  Who  is  there  1"  he  asked  with  terror. 

"My  friend  ....  fear  nothing"  ....  replied 
Anastasia,  rushing  to  the  door. 

Antony  stood  motionless,  as  though  struck 
by  the  thunderbolt. 

"  A  friend  1 — then  there  had  been  witnesses 
of  their  interview — then  the  honour  of  a  maiden 
was  pledged  to  a  third  person  !"  thought  he,  as 
he  repeated  the  fatal  vow  in  his  mind. 

The  iron  door  groaned  on  its  hinges,  the  bolt 
grated  ;  and  all  that  was  inanimate  returned  to 
its  place.  But  what  a  change  had  been  expe- 
rienced by  the  three  beings  who  had  performed 
the  preceding  scene !  Yes,  three ;  for  even 
Selinova.  who  was  capable  of  poisoning  her 
lover,  and  then  committing  suicide  for  him,  was 
capable  also,  in  the  moment  of  revenge,  of  any 
crime,  and  in  the  moment  of  generosity  of  the 
most  extraordinary  sacrifices,  was  so  touched 
by  the  love  of  Antony  and  the  daughter  of 
Obrazetz,  that  she  repented  of  her  malicious 
proceedings  and  intentions  towards  them.  She 
swore  to  Anastasia  to  be  silent  about  their  in- 
terview, and  left  her  to  the  enjoyment  of  her 
happiness — that  happiness  which  she  knew  by- 
experience  was  so  fugitive  upon  earth — and  de- 
parted straight  to  Mamon.  Here,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  beating  herself  on  the  breast,  she  in- 
formed him,  that  all  that  she  had  said  respect- 
ing Anastasia  was  an  invention  of  her  own,  all 
calumny,  a  lie  ;  that  she  was  agonized,  tortured 
by  remorse,  and  ready  to  confirm  all  this  by  the 
most  dreadful  vow,  even  under  the  bells,*  if  he 
thought  proper.  Infuriated  by  this  information, 
which  ruined  his  best  hopes,  Mamon  gnawed 
his  fist,  and  very  nearly  kicked  the  young  wid- 
ow from  his  house. 

And  how  was  it  with  Anastasia"!  ....  Where 
had  she  been — what  had  she  heard — what  felt ' 
On  hand,  lip,  bosom,  on  her  whole  frame,  giowed 
traces  which  she  would  carry  with  her  even  to 
the  grave.  How  handsome,  how  kind  he  was ! 
.  .  .  .  No !  he  was  not  an  accursed  heretic,  an 
enchanter ;  but  her  dear  Antony,  her  beloved, 
her  bridegroom,  her  priceless  treasure  I  All 
that  she  had  felt,  Antony  had  felt  too ;  as  it 
had  been  with  her,  so  had  it  been  with  Antony : 
this  was  not  glamour — this  they  call  love,  Fool- 


*  A  per.son  charged  with  debt,  &c.,  nnd  un.ible  to  dis- 
prove by  evidence  his  liability,  had  the  privilege  of  clear- 
ing himself  by  proceeding,  with  ;i  cert.nin  number  of  com 
purgatori  to  n  church,  on  which  occasion  the  bnlls  were 
rung,  and  there  taking  a  solemn  oath  of  iiis  iiOt  teins 
justly  charged.— T.  B.  S. 


114 


THE   HERETIC 


ish  girl  !  and  she  had  not  comprehended  this 
jefore !  It  was  all  wrong  that  she  had  heard 
from  her  friends  about  love ;  it  was  evident 
they  did  not  know  what  it  was.  He  would 
adopt  the  Russian  faith  ....  he  would  demand 
her  in  marriage  ....  her  father  would  ask, 
"Dost  thou  love  Antony?"  "I  love  him  as 
the  light  of  God,"  she  would  say.  No,  she 
would  never  have  the  courage  to  say  so  to  her 
father ;  he  would  understand  it  in  her  silence 
....  What  had  he  said  to  her — her  beloved  ! 
Among  all  ihe  tender  words  of  father,  brother, 
friends,  she  had  never  heard  such  words. 
Where  could  he  have  found  them  1  They  had 
made  her  soul  so  well,  so  joyful,  that  she  could 
liave  hearkened  for  ever  without  being  weary. 
Many  of  his  words  she  had  not  understood  ;  but 
it  was  clear  they,  too,  were  the  same  tender 
caresses  that  he  had  murmured  to  her  in  her 
dreams — to  which  she  could  nowhere  find  fit 
answer  but  in  Paradise  !  And  when  he  took 
her  hand,  she  hud  not  seen  heaven's  light,  her 
eyes  had  grown  dim.  She  felt  as  once  when 
her  nurse — for  a  jest — had  intoxicated  her  wjih 
strong  mead.  Tis  true,  her  eyes  were  dim, 
but  her  heart  was  so  bright— brighter  than  she 
could  tell.  And  when  he  kissed  her  lips  .... 
Heavens  !  she  did  not  remember  whether  she 
was  alive  or  whether  she  died  at  that  moment ! 

Anastasia  was  all  boiling  with  rapture — all 
full  of  life,  like  the  festival  goblet  brimming  to 
the  foani-crovvn  of  its  sparkling  contents :  like 
the  rose  bursting  forth  from  its  virgin  bud  be- 
neath the  burning  glow  of  noon. 

And  how  was  it  with  Antony  1  .  .  .  .  Was  he 
not  the  child  to  whom  chance  had  sent  the  pre- 
cious toy  which  he  has  awaited  with  the  pain 
and  terror  of  impatience  1  No!  he  was  young 
in  years,  but  in  soul  he  was  a  man,  ready  to 
keep  his  word  in  the  struggle  with  all  the  pow- 
ers of  the  earth,  and  all  ihe  inflictions  of  desti- 
ny. He  would  not  retreat,  though  before  him 
he  beheld  an  abyss.  He  had  given  a  promise  ; 
he  would  fulfill  it ;  nought  but  death  could  pre- 
vent him.  Already  the  struggle  in  his  heart 
had  ceased  :  there  was  one  duty — a  holy,  an 
inevitable  one.  His  determination  was  confirm- 
ed by  the  thought,  that  his  mother,  his  instruc- 
tor, had  hinted,  had  indeed  all  but  commanded 
him  in  each  of  their  letters,  to  remain  in  Rus- 
sia. His  mother  had  herself  promised,  for  some 
important  but  secret  cause,  to  come  over  to 
him,  if  he  could  find  an  establishment  there. 
Russia  would  become  his  second  country  ;  it 
was  therefore  indispensable  that  he  should 
adopt  the  Russian  faith.  And  what  then  ?  that 
faith  was  a  Christian  one,  pure  from  the  re- 
proach of  corruption  and  fanaticism,  with  which 
the  Western  church  might  be  charged.  Whole 
nations  in  the  south  of  Europe  were  agitated 
by  the  ground  swell  of  religious  opinion — Wic- 
lifTc,  Ihiss,  had  thousands  of  followers  ;  his  na- 
tive land  had  spilt,  too,  so  much  blood  for  these 
opinions !  ....  It  was  true  that,  there,  convic- 
tion was  the  moving  power — and  here,  wes 
there  not  interest,  selfishness  ?  No,  here  it  was 
not  alone  selfishness,  nor  love.  The  salvation 
of  a  fellow-creature,  a  friend,  a  sister,  a  bride, 
from  dishonour,  from  ruin,  in  this  world  and  in 
the  next ,  the  salvation  of  a  whole  family  from 
shame,  of  an  aged  father  from  an  untimely 
death,  and  himself,  perhaps,  from  the  dreadful 


[  sin  of  homicide — was  not  all  this  a  loRy  aim, 
and  one  well  worthy  of  the  sublimestsaciificesT 
!  Antony  knew  that  by  these  sacrifices  he  would 
I  dot  destroy  his  soul  ;  and  even  if  it  were  need- 
ful that  he  should  destroy  his  soul  for  Anasta- 
sia, for  the  preservation  of  her  honour,  which 
was  placed  in  such  frightful  peril — he  would  not 
have  hesitated.  These  are  the  reasonings  with 
which  the  hero  of  our  tale  armed  himself  in  or- 
der to  quiet  his  conscience,  which  was  some- 
what disturbed.  It  is  useless  to  conceal  it — 
many  of  ihem  were  dictated  by  his  heart,  by 
passion  rather  than  reason  or  strength  of  will. 
We  do  not  wish  to  make  him  out  better  than 
he  was. 

The  idea  of  obtaining  the  hand  of  the  boya- 
rin's  daughter  was  by  no  means  an  unreasona- 
ble one.  There  was  one  condition — the  change 
of  religion.  With  the  fulfilment  of  this  condi- 
tion, the  foreigner  would  osbtain  access  to  the 
house  of  God  :  the  head  anointed  with  the  holy 
oil,  might  stand  beneath  the  marriage  crown 
with  a  Russian  maiden.  How  many  examples 
were  there,  of  newly-christened  Tartars  espou- 
sing the  daughters  of  boyarins  !  The  fathers 
thought  to  save  a  soul  by  such  a  marriage, 
which,  according  to  their  notions,  redeemed  an 
infidel  from  eternal  fires.  The  Great  Prince 
himself  had  approved  of  similar  unions  of  Rus- 
sians with  foreigners,  and  had  endowed  the 
newly-married  couples  with  estates.  But  of 
course  it  was  not  estates  that  attracted  Antony  : 
he  would  refuse  them.  Anastasia's  hand  was 
promised  by  the  Great  Prince  to  Karakatcha, 
Tsarevitch  of  Kassimoff,  and  the  boyarin  Obra- 
zetz  cherished  a  peculiar  ill-will  towards   the 

inmate   of  his  palace How  prevent  the 

dreadful  union  with  the  Tartar,  and  demolish 
the  obstacles  which  separated  him  from  Anas- 
tasia T  To  whom  could  he  most  readily  and 
with  the  greatest  hope  of  success  have  recourse, 
in  order  to  attain  both  objects  ?  ....  In  the 
midst  of  such  thoughts  he  was  found  by  Andri- 
ousha. 


CHAPTER  XXVni. 

THE  artist's  FEVF,n-riT. 
"  A  lover,  when  he  beholds  the  death  of  the  woman  he 
ftdbres;  a  mother,  parting  for  ever  from  her  daughter;  a. 
father,  deserted  by  ungrateful  rhildren  ;  on  exile,  who  can- 
not silence  or  disprove  calumny :  none  of  these  unhappy 
Ijeings  can  know  suffering  like  that  which  is  eiporicneed 
by  the  artist  who  feels  himself  passing  away,  unapprecia- 
ted, to  eternity."— Lakont. 

"  Dear,  ah,  dear  Antony  !  save  my  father," 
cried  the  son  of  Aristotle,  rushing  into  the  cham- 
ber. 

"What  is  the  matter T'  inquired  the  leech, 
kissing  the  boy.  "  And  thou  thyself  art  all  over 
blood." 

"  1  hurt  my  temple  a  little  ....  fell  on  the 
staircase  ....  'twill  pass  ....  But  my  father, 
my  father  !  Ah,  what  will  become  of  him !  .  .  .  . 
It  is  now  twenty-four  hours  since  he  has  either 
eaten,  or  drank,  or  slept;  he  is  delirious,  com- 
plaining that  they  will  not  let  him  soar  to  heav- 
en ...  .  Just  at  daybreak  he  shut  his  eyes  ;  I 
went  up  to  him  on  tiptoe,  I  felt  his  head— his 
brow  was  burning,  his  lips  parched,  he  breathed 
heavily  ....  he  opened  his  dim  eye.<!,  gazed 
without  knowing  what  he  saw,  and  talks  inco- 
hercnily  with  hiinsclf.     Now  he  is  sitting  in  the 


THE    HERETIC. 


115 


square,  on  the  brides  that  they  are  preparing  be- 
low the  Ciiurch  of  Our  Lady,  waving  his  arm 
and  beating  his  breast." 

"  Calm  thyseli;  'Tis  nothing,  my  dear  boy  .  .  . 
Some  artist's  irritation.  Let  us  go  to  him,  and 
ook  what  is  to  be  done." 

They  hurried  out,  and  almost  at  full  speed  di- 
rected their  path  to  the  ruins  of  the  Cathedral  of 
the  Annunciation. 

They  found  the  artist  in  the  same  attitude  as 
when  Andriousha  had  left  him.  His  liead  was 
bare,  his  long  hair  streaming  disorderly  on  the 
breeze  :  despair  was  imaged  in  his  haggard 
eyes;  a  golden  chain  with  a  medal,  the  gift  of 
the  Great  Prince,  was  turned  round  and  hang- 
ing on  his  bac'-.  Amid  the  heaps  of  .stone  he 
looked  a  living  ruin.  At  the  approach  of  the 
physician,  an  ironic  smile  passed  over  his  lips. 
"  Whence  come  yeV  he  asked,  turning  to  An- 
tony. "  From  the  court  of  the  Lord  of  all  Rus- 
sia, is  it  not  sol  Well,  and  howl  hast  thou 
cured  the  parrots,  and  the  Great  Prince's  cats'! 
The  useful  before  the  beautiful  !  So  it  ought  to 
be.  Cure  them,  cure  them,  fair  leech;  'tis  a  bet- 
ter trade  than  to  strain  after  the  secrets  of  heaven  1 

And  hast  thou  looked  at  the  courtiers' 

tongues  1  Ha  !  Are  they  in  a  sound  condi- 
tion ■?....  As  of  old — they  are  smeared  with 
]ioney  when  they  have  to  tell  a  bitter  truth;  as 
of  old — with  gall,  when  they  have  to  defend  the 
disgraced  ....  I  could  sprinkle  them  with  un- 
slaked lime,  I  could  tear  them  with  red  hot  pin- 
cers till  the  day  of  judgment !  .  .  . .  Pigmies  !  . . . 
What,  Master  Leech — thou  who  ladlest  out  the 
water  of  life  and  death,  hast  thou  come  to  look 
at  the  artist's  humiliation — to  laugh  at  him  when 
the  hand  of  ignorance  hath  destroyed,  at  one 
blow,  all  his  brightest  dreams,  his  strugglings 
towards  heaven  1  .  .  .  Look!  admire!  .  .  .  Well, 
is  it  merry ■?  .  .  .  Laugh  not  too  soon;  wait  a 
•while,  the  same  fate  awaits  thee !" 

"  We  have  come  to  comfort  thee,  to  help  thee 
with  our  love,"  said  Antony,  touched  even  to 
tears.     "  Dost  thou  not  know  thy  children  1" 

"Help!  .  .  .  'Tis  too  late!"  ....  (Aristotle 
shook  his  head.)  "  I  have  no  children  .  .  .  Look, 
there  is  my  creation,  my  child  !" — (he  pointed 
to  the  torn  fragments  of  a  plan  which  were 
scattered  around.)  "  This  k  its  grave.  Bury 
me  with  it,  here  beside  it  ...  .  Ay,  the  grave, 
nothingness,  that  is  what  awaits  me ! ...  I  meant 
to  build  them  a  temple,  a  temple  of  God — do  you 
mark  mel  But  what  do  they  wanti  They 
want  cannon,  bells,  something  larger,  something 
better,  something  noisier,  something  more  beau- 
tiful!  Well,  I  make  them  a  bell  to  ring  out 
their  ignorance  to  the  whole  world,  to  tell  that 
they  have  lured  me  hither  with  a  heavenly 
hope,  and,  instead  of  that,  they  have  filled  my 
eyes  with  dust  and  lime.  I  will  cast  them  a 
cannon  two  versts  long,  I  will  level  it  at  this 
miserable  city  of  huts— it  shall  all  be  ruins,  all 
in  dust,  living  and  dead  !  .  .  .  Oh,  then  I  shall  be 
left  alone  !  No  man  will  hinder  me  from  build- 
ing my  temple.  I  can  yet  collect  its  fragltients  : 
it  is  here  yet,"  (Aristotle  struck  his  fist  against 
his  forehead,  and  then  against  his  breast,) — 
"  here,  while  I  live !  Then  from  the  ruins  I  will 
build  a  temple  to  the  living  God  ;  let  the  nations 
come  from  afar  and  worship  him'  in  this  bound- 
less desert." 

It  was  bitter  to  Andriousha  to  listen  to  his  fa- 
ther's frenzied  words.  He  sat  down  on  a  stone 
by  his  side,  kissed  his  hand,  and  bathed  it  with 
his  tears.     Desiring  to  arrange  his  father's  dress 


as  well  as  he  could,  and  to  render  less  remarka- 
ble the  disorder  of  his  exterior,  which  humilia- 
ted the  old  man  in  the  eyes  of  the  passengers,  he 
took  off  as  though  for  heat,  his  bonnet,  in  order 
to  look  like  his  father,  and  arranged  the  chain 
of  gold.  Aristotle  glanced  at  him  with  ten.ier- 
ness — "Arrange  it,  arrange  it,  my  child,"  he 
said,  stroking  his  son's  head:  "This  is  the  pre- 
cious, the  rich  reward  for  burning  bricks,  for 
building  bridges,  for  casting  a  great  gun  !  I  will 
leave  it  to  thee  as  an  inheritance,  along  with  the 
name  of  founder  and  bricklayer !"....  (After 
I  thinking  awhile,  and  shaking  his  head.)  "It 
I  was  not  such  a  reward  as  I  thought  of  when  I 
journeyed  hither.  A  chain  of  undying  years  to 
ndoin  my  name:  the  glorious  name  of  Aristotle 
the  Artist,  the  builder  of  the  temple — that  was 
the  heritage  I  meant  to  leave  thee."  (He  stop- 
ped and  wept.)  "  I  thank  God,  I  restrained  my- 
self from  making  thee  an  artist.  Dost  thou  re- 
member, Antony,  thou  blamedst  me  for  thati" 

The  leech  beheld  in  his  friend's  weeping  a  fa- 
vourable symptom ;  pleased,  too,  that  the  con- 
versation had  turned  on  Andriousha,  he  hasten- 
ed to  keep  it  up.  "  I  blamed  thee  not,  my  good 
friend,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  only  asked  thee  about  the 
destination  of  thy  son.  Be  not  ungrateful  for 
the  mercies  of  the  Creator;  he  hath  been  gener- 
ous to  the  family  of  Flora venti  in  great  gifts. 
Thy  brother  is  a  famous  leech;  Italy,  the  prom- 
ised land  of  the  beautiful,  accounts  thee  a  great 
artist;  to  thy  son  hath  fallen  the  warrior's  lot. 
Who  can  tell  with  what  glorious  deed  he  will 
fulfill  that  destiny  !  Thou  hast  assuredly  acted 
reasonably  in  giving  him  a  path,  which  will  be 
opened  so  wide  by  Fate  herself,  and  by  his  no- 
ble character.  It  is  not  for  all  to  travel  the 
same  road," 

At  this  moment  the  sky  was  covered  by  a 
cloud,  the  wind  whistled  as  if  just  freed  from 
confinement,  and  began  to  pierce  the  artist.  He 
felt  his  head.  Andriousha  anticipated  him,  and 
gave  him  a  bonnet,  which  he  had  carried  after 
his  father  when  he  had  quitted  the  house,  udd 
had  then  placed  not  far  from  him,  among  the 
stones.     Aristotle  covered  his  head. 

"  There  will  be  a  smart  shower,"  said  his  son.. 

"  Let  us  take  shelter  under  my  roof,"  suggest- 
ed Antony,  giving  his  hand  to  the  artist.  The 
latter  did  not  resist,  and  in  silence,  like  an  obe- 
dient child,  followed  him,  first  throwing  a  wist- 
ful glance  at  the  fragments  of  the  plan.  He 
seemed  to  grieve  that  they  should  be  wetted  in 
the  rain.  Andriousha  understood  his  father's 
glance,  collected  the  fragments,  and  carefully  put 
them  into  his  bosom. 

"  Ay,  'tis  well,  well  done  !"  said  Aristotle  ia 
a  melancholy  tone,  as  he  followed  his  friend.. 

He  remained  to  pass  the  night  with  Antony, 
and  spent  the  next  twenty-four  hours  in  an  agi- 
tated condition  both  of  body  and  mind.  His 
talk  was  for  the  most  part  incoherent.  At 
length  he  appeared  to  return  to  himself;  but 
when  his  senses  came  back,  he  began  to  bewail 
his  destiny.  Thus,  or  nearly  in  this  fashion, 
did  he  speak  to  his  j'oung  friend: — "  Thou 
knowest  not,  Antony,  what  a  life  is  that  of  an 
artist !  While  yet  a  child,  he  is  agitated  by 
heavy,  incomprehensible  thoughts  :  to  him  the 
sphyh.x,  Genius,  hath  already  proposed  its  enig- 
mas ;  in  his  bosom  the  Promethean  vulture  is 
perched,  and  groweth  with  his  growth.  His 
comrades  are  playing  and  making  merry;  they 
are  preparing  for  their  riper  years  recollections 
of  childhood's  days  of  paradise — childhood,  that 


il6 


THE    HERETIC. 


never  can  be  but  once :  the  time  cometh,  and  he 
remembereth  but  the  tormentine:  dreams  ol  that 
age.  Youth  is  at  hand ;  lor  others  'tis  the  time 
oi  love,  ol  soli  lies,  of  revelry — the  feast  of  life ; 
for  ihe  artist,  none  of  ihese.  Solitary,  flying 
from  society,  he  avoideih  the  maiden,  he  avoiu- 
eih  joy;  plunging  into  me  loneliness  of  his  soul, 
he  there,  with  indescribable  mourning,  with 
tears  of  inspiration,  on  his  knees  before  his  Ideal, 
imploreth  her  to  come  down  upon  earth  to  his 
frail  dwelling.  Days  and  nights  he  waileth, 
and  pineth  after  unearthly  beauty.  Woe  to  him 
if  she  doth  not  visit  him,  and  yet  greater  woe  to 
him  if  she  doth  !  The  tender  frame  of  youth 
cannot  bear  her  bridal  kiss ;  union  with  the  gods 
is  latal  to  man ;  and  the  mortal  is  annihilated  in 
her  embrace.  I  speak  not  of  the  education,  of 
the  mechanical  preparation.  And  here  at  every 
step  the  Material  enchainelh  thee,  buildeth  up 
barriers  before  thee :  marketh  a  formless  vein 
upon  thy  block  of  marble,  mingling  soot  with 
thy  carmine,  entangling  thy  imagination  in  a 
net  of  monstrous  rules  and  formulas,  command- 
eth  thee  to  be  the  slave  of  the  house-painter  or 
of  the  stone-cutter.  And  what  awaiieth  thee, 
when  thou  hast  come  forth  victorious  from  this 
mechanic  school — when  thou  hast  succeeded  in 
thr«wing  off  the  heavy  sum  of  a  thousand  un- 
necessary rules,  with  which  pedantry  hath  over- 
whelmed thee — when  thou  takest  as  thy  guide 
only  those  laws  which  are  so  plain  and  simple  1 
....What  awaiteth  ihee,  then  1  Again  the 
Material !  Poverty,  need,  forced  labour,  appre- 
ciators,  rivals,  that  ever-hungry  flock  which  fli^ 
eth  upon  thee  ready  to  tear  thee  in  pieces,  as 
soon  as  it  knoweth  that  thou  art  a  pure  possessor 
of  the  gift  of  God.  Thy  soul  burneih  to  create, 
but  thy  carcass  demandelh  a  morsel  of  bread; 
inspiration  veileih  her  wing,  but  the  body  ask- 
eth  not  only  to  clothe  its  nakedness  with  a  de- 
cent covering,  but  fine  cloth,  silk,  velvet,  that  it 
may  appear  before  thy  judges  in  a  proper  dress, 
wiihout  which  they  will  not  receive  thee,  thou 
and  thy  productions  will  die  unknown.  In  or- 
der to  obtain  food,  clothes,  thou  must  worJ: :  a 
merchant  will  order  from  thee  a  cellar,  a  ware- 
house ;  the  signore,  stables  and  dog-kennels. 
Now  at  last  thou  hast  procured  thyself  daily 
bread,  a  decent  habit  for  thy  bones  and  flesh  : 
inspiration  thirsteth  for  its  nourishment,  demand- 
ing from  thy  soul  images  and  forms.  Thou  Gre- 
atest, thou  art  bringing  thy  Ideal  to  fulfilment. 
How  swiftly  move  the  wheels  of  thy  being! 
Thy  existence  is  tenfold  redoubled,  thy  pulse  is 
bealin"  as  \\'!;f!^  ^hou  breathest  '.lie  htmosphere 
of  high  mountains.  ThoU  spetidest  in  one  day 
whole  months  of  life.  How  many  nights  pnss- 
ed  without  sleep,  how  manv  days  in  ceaseless 
chain,  all  filled  with  agitation !  Or  rather,  there 
is  nor  day  nor  night  for  thee,  nor  seasons  of  the 
year,  as  ior  other  men.  Thy  blood  now  boileth, 
then  freezeth  ;  the  fever  of  imagination  wasieih 
thee  away.  Triumph  setleth  thee  on  fire,  the 
fear  of  failure  niaddeneth  thee,  tearing  thee  to 
pieces,  tormenting  thee  with  dread  of  the  judg- 
ments of  men;  then  again  ariseth  the  terror  of 
dying  with  the  task  unfinished.  Add,  loo,  the 
inevitable  shade  of  glory,  which  stalketh  ever  in 
thy  footsteps,  and  giveth  thee  not  a  moment  of 
repose.  This  is  the  period  of  creation  I  While 
creating,  thou  hast  Ixon  dwelling  at  the  foot.stool 
of  God.  Crushed  by  thy  contact  with  the  hem 
of  his  garment,  overwhelmed  by  inspiration 
from  Him  whom  the  world  can  scarcely  bear,  a 
poor  mortal,  half  alive,  half  dead,  thou  descend- 


est  upon  earth,  and  carries!  with  thee  what  thou 
hast  created  there,  in  His  presence!  Mortals 
surround  thy  production,  judging,  valuing,  dis- 
cussing it  in  detail ;  the  patron  kiudeth  tne  or- 
naments, the  grandeur  ot  the  columns,  the  weight 
of  the  work;  the  distributors  of  favour  gamble 
away  thy  honour,  or  creep  like  mice  under  thy 
plan,  and  nibble  at  it  in  the  darkness  of  night. 
No,  my  friend,  the  life  of  an  artist  is  the  life  of 
a  martyr." 

Thus  spoke  Aristotle,  without  giving  Antony 
time  to  reply,  which  he  several  times  attempted 
to  do.  As  soon  as  he  grew  calmer,  the  young 
man  ventured  to  answer  him  as  follows:  "  Thou 
hast  drawn  an  unenviable  picture  of  the  arti.si's 
life  !  Allow  me  to  say,  thou  hast  selected  only 
the  dark  side  of  the  "painting.  Two  or  three 
questions,  and  1  have  done." 

"  I  await  them." 

"  When  creating,  or,  as  thou  hast  justly  ex- 
pressed it,  when  dwelling  at  the  footstool  of  sub- 
lime beauty,  catching  at  the  hem  of  its  garment, 
hast  thou  not  enjoyed  in  one  moment  bliss 
which  the  common  mortal  cannot  purchase  with 
his  whole  life!  Hast  thou  not,  when  embody- 
ing thy  Ideal,  had  sweet,  had  heavenly  momenf, 
which  thou  wouldst  not  exchange  for  all  the 
treasures  of  the  world  7  Hast  thou  not  been 
happy  in  the  remembrance  of  these  moments'? 
Is  it  little  that  thou  hast  been  gifted  by  Godl  .  . 
Art  thou  not  far  above  millions  of  thy  fellow- 
creatures  1  .  .  .  Thou  sinnest,  my  friend  !" 

"  'Tis  true,  'tis  true,  Antonio !"  cried  the  artist 
with  feeling,  pressing  his  friend's  hand;  "all  this 
1  have  enjoyed.  And  if  I  had  to  begin  my  life 
again,  if  I  had  the  choice  of  the  pleasures  of  the 
ri'ch  man,  the  conqueror,  the  king,  or  of  my  past 
joys,  I  would  again  choose  the  latter.  ag;iin  1 
would  follow  the  artist's  peaceful  path.  Yes, 
that  hath  been  given  to  me  which  was  neces«ary 
for  me.  that  which  my  soul  required  even  before 
its  appearance  in  the  world.  But  —  man  is  a 
strange  being;  selfishness,  love  of  glory,  call  it 
how  thou  wilt,  driveth  him  to  frenzy.  He  is  not 
content  with  enjoying  his  own  creation  himself 
— hedesireth  that  others,  that  millions  enjoy  it 
also;  he  is  not  content  with  the  praises  of  his 
contemporaries — he  desireth  that  posterity,  fu- 
ture generations,  future  ages,  bow  down  before 
him.  UJisatisfied  with  the  shortness  of  his  life, 
he  pineth- to  live  bej"ond  the  grave.  Dead,  be- 
neath the  tombstone,  he  heareth  neither  praise 
nor  judgment;  but  he  tormenteth  himself  here, 
to  e.scape  the  one,  and  to  enjoy  the  other,  dream- 
ing that  his  name  will  go  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
when  he  is  sleeping  in  the  dust." 

"A  noble  dream  !"  said  Antony.  "  Without 
it.  what  would  distinguish  man  from  the  beast? 
Without  if,  the  earth  would  want  its  best  orna- 
ment—humanilv  its  best  achievements." 

"  Well,  well,'  mv  friend  !  We  had  ended 
where  we  ought  to  have  begnn.  What  is  the 
"ood  of  Ihe  pining  afler  the  beaulilul  without 
fulfilment— the  loHv,  noble  desire  to  live  through 
.icc<:  flie  feeling  of  self-knowledge,  the  f^iensith 
of  so'nl,  the  gifts  of  heaven,  the  powerof  creating 
a  worthy  immortality,  when  there  is  no  possi- 
bililv  of  realizins  thv  creations  in  worthy,  eter- 
nal form'*''  .  .  The  material,  the  vile  material, 
is  what  tortureth  me,  agonizelh  me,  driveth  me 
to  frenzy'  .  .  .  Hear,  and  condemn  me,  if  I  de- 
serve it  I  told  thee,  with  what  lofty,  what  ar- 
dent hopes,  I  bent  my  course  to  Muscovy;  what 
rich  offers  I  refu.sed,  in  order  to  realize  those 
hopo6.    Neither  the  friendship  of  the  Doge  Mar- 


THE    HERETIC. 


117 


celli,  nor  the  pressing  invitations  of  other  Italian 
sovereigns,  nor  the  prayers  of  rny  I'riends  and 
kinsmen,  nor  a  future  in  an  unknown  land,  wi-;h 
which  they  frightened  me  —  nothing  could  stop 
me.  I  leil  my  fatherland  with  its  blessed  sky. 
I  came  to  a  distant  country,  at  the  very  extrem- 
ity of  the  world,  buried  in  mountains  of  snow, 
attracted  by  ilie  promises  with  which  they  flat- 
tered my  heart,  and  by  my  own  confidence,  that 
here  I  could  enjoy  facilities  for  my  tcork,  such  as 
I  had  hitherto  only  dared  to  hope.  Here,  a  soli- 
tary artist,  caressed  by  the  government,  enjoying 
the  love,  the  respect  of  a  religious  nation,  ready 
to  make  any  sacrifices  for  my  church,  I  dreamed 
that  I  might  realize  my  creation  quicker  than 
elsewhere.  At  last  I  am  here.  Thou  knowest 
what  menial  services  it  cost  me  to  obtain  the  fa- 
vour of  the  Great  Prince.  I  served  him  like  a 
day-labourer;  my  face  was  singed  with  gunpow- 
der, my  back  was  bent  before  its  time  in  the 
vault,  my  hands  were  horn  with  toil.  It  was, 
however,  by  such  labours  that  I  reached  the 
apogee  of  the  Tsar's  favour.  And  the  love  of 
the  people,  of  the  mob,  I  acquired  so  far  as  to 
receive  myself  their  contributions  for  the  build- 
ing of  the  church.  My  son,  whom  I  had  given 
to  this  nation  as  a  pledge  of  my  devotedness,  my 
trust  in  it,  whom  I  had  caused  to  adopt  the  Rus- 
sian faith  —  my  aid  in  warfare,  my  austere  life, 
my  preparation  of  rough  materials,  the  cannons 
and  the  bells  I  cast,  even  my  title  of  Church- 
builder — all  procured  me  the  respect  and  love 
of  the  Russians.  I  had  prepared  a  great  quantity 
of  materials  for  the  church,  and  could  continue 
to  prepare  yet  more  at  the  time  of  construction ; 
ten  thousand  bricks  are  brought  every  day  for 
nothing  from  my  kilns.  The  boyarins  who  pos- 
sess houses  around  the  Assumption  are  volun- 
tarily pulling  them  down  to  give  room  for  the 
church :  '  for  the  foundations  of  the  house  of  God 
we  are  ready  to  lay  down  our  bodies,'  they  say 
->■  'this  is  different  from  pulling  down  churches 
to  make  room  for  gardens.'  I  can  dispose,  too, 
of  thousands  of  zealous  hands.  Ivan's  treasury, 
enriched  by  triumphs  in  which  I  have  had  no 
small  share,  would  open  every  means  for  me. 
All — even  the  recent  success  of  the  reduction  of 
Tver,  authorized  me  to  approach  the  execution 
of  my  creation.  There  was  wanting  but  the 
word  of  Ivan — '  Let  it  be  so.'  Well,  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday  I  received  an  order  to  present  my 
plan  to  him.  I  take  it.  The  Great  Prince  him- 
self, Sophia,  and  a  high  ecclesiastical  personage, 
were  my  judges.  With  a  trembling  heart  I  un- 
roll my  plans,  I  explain  them  ....  I  behold  dis- 
pleasure upon  Ivan's  face ;  still  more  on  the 
countenance  of  the  ecclesiastic;  Sophia  looked 
at  me  with  compassion  and  a  lively  interest. 
'  For  God's  sake,'  said  the  Great  Prince,  '  what 
is  this  that  thou  wouldst  build  usl'  'A  cathe- 
dral of  the  Mother  of  God,  such  as  would  be 
worthy  of  her,'  replied  I.  'A  cathedral  1'  cried 
Ivan, '  we  want  a  house  of  God  ;  but  what  is  this 
thou  hast  made  usi  .  .  .  Hast  thou  been  to  Vla- 
dimir, hast  thou  seen  the  cathedral  church 
there  V  '  I  have  been  there,  and  have  seen  it.' 
'  Build  us  one  like  that.  Master  Aristotle,  only 
somewhat  larger  and  thicker;  that  is  for  Vladi- 
mir, and  ours  must  be  fit  for  Moscow — dost  thou 
understand  1  For  this  we  will  thank  ye,  in  the 
name  of  all  orthodox  Russia,  and  we  will  not 
leave  thee  unrewarded.'  '  If  so,  why  didst  thou 
invite  a  celebrated  master  from  Venice]'  I  said, 
with  indignation,  rolling  up  my  plan.  '  Thou 
mightcst  have  ordered  any  bricklayer  to  build 


it !'  '  Now  thou  art  angered !  Hold,  show  me 
thy  paper  again,'  and  he  began  again  to  examine 
it.  'As  thou  wilt, but  we  understand  it  not — we 
understand  it  not.  It  looks,  even  on  paper,  ready 
to  tumble  down.'  At  this  moment  the  ecclesi- 
astic looked  at  the  plan,  and  exclaimed — '  'Tis 
exactly  a  Latin  chapel!'  '  It  is  not  at  least  a 
Jewish  school,'  I  cried.  The  priest  turned  pale. 
Sophia  began  to  defend  me,  saying  that  such  a 
church  would  be  the  wonder  of  foreigners,  that 
the  cathedral  at  Constantinople  in  honour  of  her 
patron  saint  could  hardly  be  compared  to  it  for 
beauty  and  grandeur.  The  Great  Prince  shook 
his  head,  and  thought  awhile.  '  And  how  manyl 
fathoms  dost  thou  need  for  thy  church  V  he 
asked.  'Two  hundred,'  said  I.  'Two  hun- 
dred ?  thou  art  mad,  Aristotle  !  Why,  then,  the 
boyarins'  houses  must  be  levelled,  the  ancient 
churches  must  come  down.'  '  The  izbas  of  thy 
boyarins,  and  the  chapels  which  you  call 
churches,  assuredly  must  come  down.  Thoa 
thyself  wert  pulling  them  down  for  the  garden?. 
If  thou  wouldst  be  a  great  .sovereign,  thou  muse 
do  what  is  great,  and  worthy  of  the  admiralioa 
of  the  world.'  '  Well ;  but  where  are  we  to  find 
,so  many  bricks  V  '  In  my  kilns  there  are  al- 
ready a  great  many  ready ;  I  will  prepare  more.' 
'  Where  am  I  to  get  bricks  for  the  Kreml  1  For- 
get not,  I  must  build  a  wall,  gates,  towers.' 
'  Where  thou  wilt,  my  lord,  but  I  have  prepared 
the  bricks  for  the  Cathedral  of  Our  Lady,  and 
not  for  thy  Tartar  towers.'  '  No,  this  cannot 
be,'  cried  Ivan,  enraged;  'thou  art  mad,  Aris- 
totle— thou  hast  a  fever-fit.  I  have  done  much 
to  please  thee,  but  this  cannot  be — 'tis  impossi- 
ble. Canst  thou  bend  an  oak  into  a  bow,  and 
then  expect  it  to  grow  up  to  heaven  1  All  Rus- 
sia is  but  newly  fledged,  and  thou  wouldst  pluck 
it  of  its  last  feather.  Be  angry  or  not,  I  wil 
that  the  Cathedral  of  Our  Lady  be  built  on  the 
model  of  the  church  of  Valdimir,  only  rather 
more  spacious  and  thicker:  that  it  be  a  church, 
not  a  temple,  not  a  Latin  chapel.'  '  Thou  hast 
many  Italian  architects,  command  them.'  '  I 
will  that  thou  build  it.'  '  I  will  not.'  '  I  will 
have  thee  in  chains,'  shouted  Ivan,  striking  his 
staff"  on  the  ground,  and  devouring  me  with  his 
burning  eyes:  '  thou  shalt  build  it  in  chains.'  'I 
will  build  my  temple  in  chains,  if  thou  wilt.'  '  I 
want  a  church-on  the  model  of  that  of  Vladimir.' 
'  I  will  not.'  '  What,  dost  thou  not  know  me  V 
'  I  know  thee,  but  I  will  not.'  I  thought  he 
would  have  struck  me  with  his  staff;  but  he 
only  shook  it  at  me  without  striking.  I  went 
out  from  his  presence,  clapping  the  door  behind 
me.  And  this  is  the  end  of  all  my  painful  toils 
for  this  ruler ;  this  is  the  fruit  of  my  inspiration, 
the  fu-lfilraent  of  my  fondest  hopes !  ...  Is  it  not 
enough  to  drive  one  mad  V 

"  As  far  as  I  can  see,  thou  hast  mistaken  the 
Great  Prince,  mistaken  as  to  his  means  and 
those  of  Russia,"  said  Antony,  takiiig  on  this 
occasion  the  part  of  counsellor.  "With  great- 
ness of  soul  thou  hast  unthinkingly  attributed  to 
him  a  love  for  the  fine  arts  which  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  find  in  the  princes  of  Italy.  Let  a  sav- 
age, be  he  as  wise  as  you  will,  pass  from  his 
hut  into  a  marble  palace,  will  he  not  be  terrified 
and  repelled  by  it  1  ...  .  Now,  if  my  wish  be  not 
too  presumptuous,  permit  me  to  see  thy  plans. 
Trust  ihera  to  the  judgment,  not  of  my  knowl- 
edge, but  of  my  love  for  the  beautiful,  and  of  a 
cool  reason.  It  may  be,  that  acquaintance  with 
the  great  monuments  of  architecture  in  Italy,  ac- 
quaintance with  great  artists,  may  have  formed 


118 


THE    HERETIC. 


my  taste  so  far  that  I  may  by  feeling  understand 
what  others  understand  by  science." 

The  anisl,  now  tranquillized,  consented  with 
pleasure  to  his  young  friend's  proposition.  The 
fragments  of  the  plan,  which  were  not  numer- 
ous, were  instantly  placed  together  on  the  table, 
and  united  with  paste.  But  just  as  Antony  had 
put  them  together,  and  was  examining  them, 
there  presented  himself  a  messenger  from  the 
Great  Prince.  His  business  was  to  the  leech 
alone;  and  he  called  him  into  the  hall.  Here 
he  explained  that  Ivan  Vassilievitch  was  ex- 
tremely anxious  about  the  artist's  health,  whom 
he  was  afraid  of  losing,  and  gave  command  to 
Antony  to  present  himself  with  a  saii.'sfactory 
account,  (i.e.,  with  the  tidings  that  Aristotle  was 
rapidly  recovering — it  was  Antony's  business  to 
make  the  sick  well:  he  might  die  himself,  but 
ihe  patient  must  recover,  particularly  when  the 
Lord  of  All  Russia  commanded.)  "Now,  this 
fever-tit,"  said  the  mes.senger,  "  is  not  the  first 
that  hath  happened.  Once  Ivan  Vassilievitch 
pulled  down  two  or  three  izbas  close  to  the  As- 
sumption, and  the  palace-inaster  became  quiet 
again.  But  this  time  our  Lord  can  do  no  more ; 
pull  down,  you  see,  all  the  izbas,  all  the  church- 
es and  houses  in  the  town !  Judge  thyself,  as  a 
reasonable  man,  is  it  possible  1"  Antony  could 
not  help  smiling  when  he  heard  the  simple  ex- 
planation; but  at  the  same  time  he  received 
new  conviction  that  his  fritnd's  demands  ex- 
ceeded the  possibility  of  satisfying  them.  Reas- 
sured the  messenger  that  the  artist  was  out  of 
danger,  promising  to  afford  him  the  necessary 
help  in  case  of  need,  and  instantly  to  present 
himself  to  the  Great  Prince. 

On  returning  to  his  chamber,  he  found  the  ar- 
tist with  his  face  a  little  more  cheerful.  Wheth- 
er it  was  the  enquiry  from  the  Great  Prince 
which  had  given  Ari.stotle  fresh  hope,  (he  could 
not  but  be  sure  that  that  message  was  about 
him,)  or  the  examination  of  his  plan,  which  had 
effected  such  a  change  for  the  belter,  or  perhaps 
both  these  causes  at  once,  the  leech  found  a 
smile  upon  his  lips.  But  little  by  little  the 
smile  vanished  away,  and  fresh  clouds  gathered 
upon  his  brow.  "  Thou  art  right,  Antonio,"  he 
ciied;  "  I  am  a  madman  !" 

Antony  began  to  examine  the  plan.  What  he 
saw,  language  can  never  describe.  Perhaps  an 
edifice,  like  the  Temple  of  St.  Peter  at  Rome, 
perhaps  a  Christian  Pantheon,  a  Divina  Com- 
niedia  in  stone.  Familiar  with  the  highest  pro- 
ductions of  architecture  in  Italy,  he  had  prepar- 
ed his  iinaginalion  for  something  extraordinary ; 
but  he  saw  that  Aristotle's  building  outstripped 
imagination  and  possibility.  Long  he  stood  be- 
fore the  drawings,  quite  unable  to  give  any  ac- 
count of  his  impressions. 

The  portico  of  the  temple  was  gloomy;  as 
soon  as  you  entered  it,  you  were  surrounded  by 
a  religious  awe;  all  there  was  expressive  of  the 
weight  of  sin,  humiliation,  despondency,  contri- 
tion. Gigantic  quadrangular  colunms,  com- 
po.-^cd  of  huge  stones,  rudely  hewn,  and  speckled 
with  the  moss  of  ages,  besprinkled  with  the 
moul.lincss  of  time,  piled  in  a  wondrous  harmo- 
nious disorder,  seemed  as  though  raised  by  the 
almighty  arm  of  nature,  and  not  of  man  ;  from 
vault-i,  of  similar  proportions  to  the  columns, 
sternly  looked  forth  colossal  statues  of  stone, 
and  seemed  preparing  to  crush  you  :  the  hollow 
murmur  of  prayer  would  resound  along  those 
vaults  like  a  breath  from  the  frail  bosom— not 
of  one   man,   but  of  all   humanity.     Through 


moderately  large  openings,  scattered  irregularly 
here  and  there,  the  sunbeams  in  two  or  three 
spots  sparingly  dropped  their  light,  now  on  the 
divine  image  of  the  crucified  Saviour,  now  on 
his  grave-clothes,  now  on  the  face  of  the  Mag- 
dalen, bedewed  with  tears.  But  the  further  you 
advanced  into  the  interior  of  the  temple,  the 
lighter,  brighter,  more  cheerful  it  became:  here 
proportions,  forms,  images,  cast  off' their  fetters, 
more  air  was  admitted,  all  glimmered  in  the 
half  light  of  hope,  and  the  trust  in  immortality. 
At  length,  as  you  approached  the  last  apart- 
ment, you  seemed  to  tread  down  the  earth  from 
beneath  your  feet,  and  plunge  into  a  kind  of 
holy  immensity.  There  dwelt  blessing;  there 
all  was  ether,  harmony,  brilliancy,  and  joy. 
Words  cannot  describe  what  Antony  felt  as  he 
gazed  upon  the  plan  of  the  wondrous  threefold 
temple. 

"  No !"  cried  the  young  man,  after  a  long 
pau-ie,  with  an  enthusiasm  he  was  not  able  to 
conceal ;  "no,  great  artist,  thou  createst  not  for 
this  age,  but  for  centuries  which  are  to  come 
hereafter,  when  the  power  of  Archimedes'  lever 
will  replace  thousands  of  men  Even  the  imag- 
inati-on  is  hardly  able  to  embrace  the  immensity 
of  this  edifice,  and,  dumb  with  astonishment, 
falleth  prostrate  before  it.  What  would  be  the 
effect  if  it  were  executed?  ....  Pardon  me,  if 
I  tell  thee  a  bitter  truth  ....  the  Russian  sov- 
ereign is  right,  a  hundred  limes  right!  If  he 
could  reach  the  grandeur  of  this  edifice,  he  would 
still  more  fully  understand  the  impossibility  of 
realizing  it.  Cast  away,  while  it  is  yet  lime, 
thy  hopes — thine  idea  far  exceedeth  possibility. 
And  is  it  not  ever  thus?  What  heaven  hath 
created,  earth  cannot  execute." 

Pale,  trembling,  Aristotle  listened  to  him,  as 
if  he  were  hearing  h-is  sentence  of  death.  He 
had  prepared  himself  for  this  verdict;  and  yet, 
when  he  heard  it,  he  could  not  return  to  reason. 
"  Filled  with  the  sublime  visions  of  genius,  a 
dweller  in  heaven  coming  down  to  our  poor 
world,"  continued  the  young  man,  taking  the  ar- 
tist's cold  hand  and  pressing  it,  "thou  hasi  mis- 
taken our  earthly  calculations,  our  proportions. 
Still  greater  hath  been  thine  error,  in  dreaming 
of  realizing  thy  building  here,  in  Russia,  in  these 
days.  Thou  wonderest  that  they  understand 
thee  not  here;  is  it  surprising!  Thou  art  come 
too  soon.  Think,  Ivan  is  gifted  with  a  mighty 
soul,  with  a  will  of  iron:  he  can  conquer  time 
and  circumstances,  but  he  is  not  almighty  .... 
Can  he  inspire  himself  with  the  feeling  of  the 
beautiful — an  ardent  love  for  it,  so  far  as  to  adopt 
thy  work  nmc?  Can  he  sacrifice  to  it  the  wealth 
of  his  treasury — can  he  renounce  other  objects, 
which  he  considers  more  profitable  and  impor- 
tant ?  Is  he  to  devote  thousands  of  his  people's 
arms,  thousands  of  his  boyarins'  houses,  and 
churches  which  orthodox  Moscow  counts  so 
precious!  In  him  the  idea  of  strength,  consist- 
ng  in  uniting  into  one  the  scattered  parts  of  a 
vast  whole,  fulfills  its  destination:  but  the  idea 
of  the  beautiful  is  unintelligible  to  him,  or  is 
conceived  but  dimly,  and  always  under  the  forms 
of  strength,  of  firmness,  of  variety.  Listen  to 
me:  diminish  the  proportions  of  thy  plan  a  third, 
f  not  a  half,  and  even  then  the  genius  of  the 
lieautiful  will  recogni.se  thy  production  as  his 
own  ;  posterity  willadmire  it.  But  even  in  this 
case,  prepare  "the  Russian  sovereign  for  the  ex- 
pcriu^ent  by  a  building  such  as  Ivan  and  his  peo- 
ple have  commanded— if  not  according  to  the 
idea  of  the  beautiful,  yet  according  to  ihe  idea 


THE    HERETIC. 


119 


of  the  vast — and  let  this  be  the  mediator  between 
the  Russians  and  thyself.  Build  them  fir>t  a 
•church  as  a  peace-maker.  It  will  be  a  new  sac- 
»Tifice  from  thee  to  the  Ru.ssian  people.  And 
then,  reducing  the  proportions  of  thy  temple,  se- 
lect a  siie  for  it  not  in  the  Kreml,  but  on  one  of 
ihe  heights  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Moscow. 
'Then,  full  master  of  thy  plan,  assisted  by  human 
j-esources,  and  with  the  help  of  God,  raise  thy- 
self an  immortal  monument.  For  this  thou 
mayest  take  Ivan's  word." 

'■Ivan's  word!"  ....  cried  Aristotle,  and 
sobbed  like  a  child. 

"  What  I  have  been  saying  to  thee,  till  now, 
I  said  to  thy  reason.  Now,  I  turn  to  thy  heart. 
In  refusing  to  build  a  church  to  Our  Lady,  dost 
thou  not  deprive  her  of  one  of  her  altars'?  There, 
where  thousands  might  be  worshipping,  where 
rthey  might  be  bringing  her  worthy  offerings,  wilt 
-thou  leave  a  place  .of  desolation,  of  disorder,  of 
uncleanness  1  What  is  become  of  the  feeling  of 
•Christian  humility  1  ....  Oh,  my  friend!  what 
Jiast  thou  done  with  that  feeling  of  piety  which 
ever  distinguished  theel" 

These  words  penetrated  the  artist  with  inex- 
pressible terror. 

"  Yes,  I  was  a  madman !"  he  cried ;  "  imagina- 
tion obscured  my  reason,  selfishness  destroyed 
in  me  all  that  was  good,  all  that  was  holy;  it 
■was  no  temple  to  the  Lord  that  I  wished  to  create, 
but  to  myself,  not  to  Our  Lady — I  desired  to  be 
worshipped  in  it  myself !  ....  I  am  worse  than 
an  idolater !  I  am  like  the  Israelites,  who,  know- 
ing the  true  God,  fell  down  before  the  golden 
■calf.  Thou  hast  restored  me  to  my  senses,  my 
young  but  reasonable  friend.  Yes  !  I  will  make 
a  peace-offering;  but  not  to  the  Great  Prince, 
not  to  the  Russian  people,  but  to  the  Mother  of 
God.  To  her  I  make  a  vow  to  build  a  church 
as  they  command  me  to  build  it,  and  not  as  I 
wished  to  construct  it  in  my  selfishness,  (the 
artist  crossed  himself)  Look  down,  most  Holy 
Mother,  with  a  mercitul  eye  upon  my  contrition, 
and  take  pity  on  me,  a  miserable  sinner,  from 
thy  heavenly  throne!" 

Trembling  with  a  holy  enthusiasm,  he  seized 
his  plan  and  tore  it  into  small  pieces,  and  then 
fell  sobbing  before  the  image  of  the  Virgin. 
Long  he  lay  prostrate  on  the  ground,  and  when 
he  arose  his  face  was  bright.  He  embraced  his 
young  friend,  kissed  his  son  with  tenderness, 
like  a  man  returning  home  from  a  distant  and 
painful  journey.  The  crisis  was  terrible,  but  it 
was  over.  The  voice  of  religion  had  done  what 
neither  the  stern  power  of  the  Prince  could  do, 
nor  the  strength  of  friendship,  nor  the  arguments 
of  reason. 

"Now,"  said  Aristotle,  turning  with  firmness 
to  the  leech,  "go  to  the  Great  Prince,  and  tell 
him,  that  I,  not  fearing  chains,  but  to  fulfill  a 
.vow  to  the  Holy  Virgin,  will  begin  to-morrow 
to  construct  a  church  on  the  model  of  that  at 
Vladimir." 

The  news  of  Aristotle's  recovery  from  the 
fever-Jit;  as  the  Russians  called  these  attacks, 
gratified  Ivan  Vassilievitch.  He  had  been  alarm- 
ed lest  his  engineer  and  church-builder  should 
go  out  of  his  mind;  and  that,  too,  while  he  was 
still  needful  tp  him!  The  artist,  perhaps,  was 
among  that  number  of  madmen  of  genius,  who 
.ought  to  be  shut  up,  along  with  Tasso  and 
Beethoven,  in  Bedlam.  But  it  must  be  remark- 
•ed  that  there  were  not,  at  this  period,  any  houses 
for  the  care  of  the  insane.  Ivan  Vassilievitch 
could  not  disguise  his  joy  :  he  thanked  the  leech 


more  than  once,  and  gave  him  a  promise,  when 
ArLstotle  had  completed  the  Church  of  the  As- 
sumption as  he,  the  Great  Prince,  desired,  to 
give  him  any  site  he  pleased  out  of  the  town, 
and  the  assistance  of  his  treasury,  for  a  new 
church,  which  the  architect  wa-  to  build  after 
his  own  fashion,  provided  he  would  reduce  the 
proportions  of  his  plan. 

On  the  next  day,  with  the  proper  religious 
ceremonies,  the  first  stone  was  laid  of  the  founda- 
tion of  the  cathedral  Church  of  the  Assumption. 
Immediately  afterwards  Aristotle  began  to  con- 
struct it  on  the  model  of  the  church  at  Vladimir. 
He  remarked  with  delight,  that  the  type  of  this 
edifice  was  to  be  found  in  Venice,  namely,  in 
the  church  of  St.  Mark.  But  the  struggle  which 
had  given  him  the  victory  of  religious  will  over 
love  of  glory  and  his  fondest  hopes  had  been  so 
strong,  that  it  laid  him  on  a  sickbed,  from  which 
he  was  with  difficulty  raised  by  the  care  of  his 
friendly  physician,  and  his  beloved  son. 

In  such  circumstances  how  could  Antony 
think  of  his  own  hopes  1  And  whom  could  he 
take  to  assist  him  in  his  plans  of  marriage,  rath- 
er than  Aristotle"?  ....  The  artist's  recovery 
must  decide  his  fate. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    RECEPTION    OF    THE    EMBASSY. 

In  Moscow  and  the  neighbouring  villages  was 
an  unusual  stir.  Constables,  guards,  and  re- 
tainers, are  galloping  from  morn  till  night,  and 
(hiving  out  the  people.  The  Russian  peasant  is 
always  delighted  to  stare,  for  days  together,  even 
at  what  he  does  not  understand,  so  long  as  he 
has  no  work  to  do ;  and  on  this  occasion  they 
drove  him  with  the  stick  into  the  city  to  make 
holiday  for  a  whole  four-and-twerity  hours. 
Thousands  are  streaming  from  all  parts,  and 
they  will  lie  heavy  on  old  Moscow's  heart ;  she 
will  be  stifled  !  With  this  populace  they  intend- 
ed to  make  a  show  of  the  strength  of  Muscovy. 

And  at  the  Great  Prince's  court  there  is  no 
less  bustle.  On  the  morrow  is  to  be  the  recep- 
tion of  the  imperial  ambassador.  In  the  Rus- 
sian Tsar,  for  such  Ivan  Vassilievitch  had  be- 
gun to  style  himself,  was  already  developed  the 
feeling  of  his  own  and  his  people's  dignity;  and 
therefore,  in  his  relations  with  the  imperial  am- 
bassador, who  was  arrogant  and  presumptuous, 
the  courtiers  of  the  Great  Prince  had  higgled 
and  bargained  lor  the  least  advantage.  Several 
days  running,  the  boyarins  had  presented  them- 
selves at  the  ambassador's  dwelling,  to  discuss 
the  ceremonies  of  introduction,  presentation, 
sitting  down,  standing  up,  kissing  of  hands,  the 
number  of  reverences,  the  one  step  backwards 
or  forwards,  and  almost  of  the  privilege  of  sneez- 
ing. They  had  ascertained  what  Poppel  would 
say,  and  took  their  measures  to  prepare  a  fitting, 
answer.  Poppel  demanded  that  the  Great  Prince 
should  give  him  an  audience  alone — this  was 
refused.  At  last,  when  all  was  arranged  on 
both  sides,  the  day  was  fixed  for  the  reception. 

The  minds,  or  rather  the  imaginations,  of  the 
people  were  occupied  with  the  splendid  recep- 
tion of  ambassadors,  as  though  with  festivals. 
But,  under  the  mask  of  the  tiustle  of  a  ceremo- 
nial, the  Founder  of  Russia  was  preparing  the 
way  for  a  new  triumph.  He  secured  a  whole 
province  without  the  sword,  without  leagues  or 
treaties. 

There  had  arrived  at  his  court  a  guest  from 


120 


THE    HERETIC 


Ouglitch,  his  own  brother,  Andrei  VassfHevitch 
the  eJder.  The  stranger  was  received  with 
splendid  and  unsparing  hospitalitj'.  As  soon  as 
he  arrived,  he  passed  the  whole'  evening  with 
the  Great  Prince  in  gay  and  open  conversation. 
He  had  expected  displeasure  for  not  having  sent 
to  Moscow  a  band  of  auxiliaries  against  the 
Tsars  of  the  Horde.  Nothing  was  mentioned 
on  the  subject;  never  before  had  he  been  so  af- 
fectionately received,  never  had  the  Great  Prince 
talked  so  unreservedly  to  him.  On  the  next 
day  he  was  invited  with  the  boyarins  to  dinner. 
Ivan  Vassflievitch  met  him,  seated  him  in  the 
place  of  honour,  overwhelmed  him  with  cares- 
ses, and  a  friendship  so  skilfully  assumed,  that 
the  Prince  of  Ouglitch  took  these  false  jewels 
for  real.  In  the  eyes,  in  the  language  of  his 
host,  not  even  a  shade  of  treachery  was  to  be 
discerned.  He  did  not  betray  himself  till  the  end. 
This  drama  was  played  in  the  Western  Izba, 
"which  really  was  so  named  because  it  looked 
towards  the  setting  sun;  but  henceforward,  it 
was  to  be  associated  with  the  setting  of  the  un- 
fortunat-e  prisoner's  sun  of  happiness.  It  was 
now  time  to  let  the  trap  fall  on  the  incautious 
victim.  Ivan  Vassflievitch  went  out  into  the 
audience-chamber,  and  returned  no  more.  It 
was  the  hour  fixed  for  the  banquet.  Those  who 
were  invited  to  the  feast  were  splendidly  enter- 
tained. In  the  dining,  hall,  the  courtiers  of  An- 
drei Vassflievitch  were  assembled  under  a  guard. 
Suspecting  nothing,  he  was  waiting  till  they 
should  come  to  announce  that  dinner  was  serv- 
ed. And  some  Muscovite  boyarins  appeared. 
One  of  them*  seemed  desirous  of  communica- 
ting something  to  him,  but  was  unable ;  tears 
prevented  him  from  speaking.  At  last,  with 
frequent  interruptions  from  them,  he  said—"  My 
lord,  Prince  Andrei  Vassilievitch,  thou  art  the 
prisoner  of  God,  and  of  the  Lord  Great  Prince, 
Ivan  Vassilievitch,  of  All  Russia,  thine  elder 
brother."  Andrei  changed  colour,  arose  from 
his  place,  but  speedily  recovering  himself,  said, 
with  firmness — "God's  will  be  done,  and  that  of 
the  Prince,  my  brother;  but  the  Lord  will  judge 
between  us,  that  I  am  unjustly  deprived  of  liher- 
tv."  Leaving  his  brother's  hospitable  palace, 
the  unfortunate  prince  exchanged  his  province 
Ouglitch  for  a  dungeon  and  for  chains. 

On  the  same  day  there  was  spread  through 
Moscow  a  rumour  of  the  imprisonment  of  the 
Prince  of  Ouglitch.  It  filled  with  horror  the 
small  number  of  good  men,  who  feared  not  open- 
ly to  condemn  this  proceeding  of  the  Great 
Prince.  But  the  greater  number,  the  mob,  which 
never  reasons,  were  against  the  unhappy  pris- 
oner, calling  him  traitor,  betraver,  the  foe"  of  the 
church  and  of  his  country.  The  courtiers  of 
Ivan  Vassilievitch  took  care  to  instil  into  the 
ears  of  the  people  reports  that  the  Prince  of  Oug- 
litch had  been  detected  in  a  correspondence  with 
the  Polish  king,  to  whom  he  had  promised  the 
head  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch:  that  he  had  come 
expressly  for  this  to  Moscow,  with  a  great  num- 
ber of  boyarins;  that  he  had  aciuallv  arrived  at 
the  Great  Prince's  palace,  and  that  he  had  made 
an  attempt  on  his  elder  brother's  life,  but  that 
this  had  f«iled,  from  the  infidelity  of  one  of  his 
people.  Then  they  recalled  his  former  offences 
against  Moscow,  long  ago  forgotten  and  forgiv- 
en. Of  his  .services  to  Moscow,  no  one  men- 
tioned a  single  word.  And  thus  it  was  no  won- 
der that  the  majority  was  on  the  side  of  power 


rather  than  on  that  of  justice.  On  the  following 
day  a  spectacle  was  prepared  for  the  gaping 
mob,  and  the  unfortunate  prisoner  was  soon  for- 
gotten. He  had  none  to  plead  his  cause  but 
God. 

In  the  evening  of  the  same  day  on  which  the 
Prince  of  Ouglitch  had  been  seized  and  thrown- 
into  fetters.  Antony  the  leech  was  summoned  to 
the  Great  Prince.  He  found  Ivan  Vassilievitch 
in  an  agitated  state. 

"  Hark  ye,  leech,"  said  the  Great  Prince,  "  my 
brother  is  dying;  save  him.  for  God's  sake!" 
Antony  promised  to  do  all  he  could. 
"  He  is  my  brother,  though  he  hath  behaved 
ill  to  me,"  continued  the  Great  Prince,  "even 
though  he  hath  attempted  my  life,  hath  reached 
at  Moscow:  therefore  is  he  cast  into  irons — but 
I  would  not  that  any  fatal  harm  should  fall  upon 
him  ;  God  see'th  I  would  not.  I  only  would 
teach  him,  punish  him,  as  a  father  punisheth.  1 
wish  the  good  of  Moscow  and  of  my  brothers. 
Who  will  care  for  them  if  not  I  ?  Am  not  I  the 
eldest  of  the  house"?  And  Andrei  and  I  have 
grown  up  together  from  our  cradle." 

Here  he  wept  feigned  tears.  But  his  fear  was 
real.  He  dreaded  lest  Andrei  Vassilievitch. 
should  die  on  the  first  day  of  his  imprisonment, 
and  that  his  death  might  attract  suspicion  upon 
himself.  To  cut  a  throat,  to  strangle,  to  poison 
—these  methods  he  never  adopted  with  his  pris- 
oners; he  counted  such  a  deadly  sin.  Ordina- 
rily he  killed  them  by  the  slow  death  of  chains, 
leaving  their  lives  to  God :  this  was  no  sin  !  ...  . 
"  I  will  keep  him  a  month  or  two,  and  let  him 
go,"  said  he  to  the  leech ;  "  he  may  go  where  he 
will.  Though  he  be  wicked,  he  is  yet  of  my 
blood!  ....  Save  him,  Antony !  I  will  never 
j  forget  thy  services.  I  will  find  thee  a  bride  af- 
ter thine  own  heart  ....  I  will  give  thee  lands 
....  Save  my  soul  from  a  great  disgrace.  The 
dvoretzkoi  here  will  conduct  thee  to  Andrei  Var- 
silievitch." 

Antony  was  thunderstruck  by  the  hint  abo'Jt 
the  bride  ....  Was  it  possible  that  the  Gieai 
Prince  already  knew  of  his  love  for  Anastasia  1 
!  Who  could  have  told  him  of  it"?  ...  .  It  was, 
I  however,  impossible  to  indulge  in  wonder  for  a 
I  long  time:  he  hurried  to  the  prisoner,  whom  he 
[  found  in  a  dangerous  state.  The  Prince  of 
i  Ouglitch  had  borne  bravely  the  first  blow,  but 
I  when  he  sounded  the  depth  of  his  misfortune, 
I  when  he  compared  the  future  which  awaited 
i  him,  with  the  lot  of  former  important  prisoners 
j  of  his  brother,  he  was  terrified  with  that  future. 
i  All  his  blood  had  rushed  to  his  heart  ....  It 
I  is  not  our  business  to  describe  the  measures  ta- 
t  ken  by  Antony  to  relieve  the  unfortunate  prince: 
I  suffice  it  to  say,  (hat  by  the  power  of  medical 
I  remedies  he  succeeded,  in  spite  of  the  patient's 
{  opposition,  in  affording  him  the  necessary  relief 
j  Perhaps  he  was  to  blame  in  prolonging  liisdan- 
[  geon  life  for  two  years  more. 
I  Brightly  and  gaily  had  the  euest  from  Oug- 
litch ari.sen  on  the  horizon  of  Moscow,  like  the 
young  moon ;  and,  like  the  young  moon,  speedi- 
j  iy  did  he  sink  beneath  it.  And  on  his  lonely 
j  death-bed  the  only  farewell  voice  was  the  clink: 
'  of  the  fetters. 

I  The  speed  V  aid  alTorded  to  the  Prince  of  Oug- 
I  litch,  raised  the  leech  in  the  eyes  of  the  Russian 
'  sovereign.  He  still  continued  to  hold  him  in 
i  high  honour;  gif^s  followed  gifts,  and  gave  an 
additional  value  to  words  of  favour.  Antony 
I  profited  by  these  favours  to  bes  some  indulgence 
'  for  the  unhappy  prisoner.     His  letters  were  re- 


THE    HERETIC. 


121 


moved  for  a  while ;  but  as  soon  as  he  recovered 
they  were  put  on  again.  They  assured  Antony 
that  he  was  altogether  relieved  <roin  them,  and 
frona  that  time  forward,  the  leech  was  noi  per- 
mitted to  visit  the  prisoner. 

Between  the  acts  of  this  cruel  drama  they  per- 
formed the  reception  of  the  ambassador.  From 
his  lodging  Pop-pel  was  conducted  in  an  exten- 
sive circuit  through  the  best  streets,  the  Great 
Street,  Varskoi  Street,  the  Red  Square,  and  the 
chief  street  in  the  city.  All  this  was  crammed 
■with  the  people,  as  close  as  the  seeds  in  a  sun- 
flower. Room  was  only  left  for  the  ambassa- 
dor's train,  his  attendants,  and  his  guard  of  hon- 
our. Every  window  was  crowded  with  living 
faces;  the  walls  were  threaded  with  heads,  as  in 
the  enchanted  castle;  the  roofs  were  sown  with 
groups  of  people.  All  Moscow  was  streaming 
from  its  outskirts  and  suburbs  to  its  heart. 

"  Silence !  they  are  playing  on  the  kettle- 
drum !  They  come,  they  come  !"'  resounded 
through  the  people,  and  this  cry  passed  in  a  few 
moments  from  the  ambassador's  palace  to  the 
water-side  haUs,  where  the  reception  was  to  take 
place.  Breasts  were  jammed  against  breasts, 
backs  were  squeezed  down  with  tremendous 
weight,  complaints  and  cries  arose.  "  Never 
mind  !  they  come,  they  come !"  and  then  stream- 
ed on  the  procession.  At  the  head  came  a  horse- 
man beating  on  plates  of  brass  ;  behind  him 
came  pouring  a  glittering  stream  of  chosen  horse- 
men in  helmet  and  cuirass,  with  sword  and 
spear.  Beyond  them  extended  in  two  lines  a 
number  of  boyarins,  with  the  immoveably  im- 
portant air  of  mandarins,  in  rich  dresses,  on 
which  the  sun  played,  and  reflected  his  beams. 
Some  of  them  seemed  as  if  they  were  carrying 
on  thick  cushions  bushy  beards,  combed  hair 
upon  hair,  so  fat  were  they.  And  there  is  the 
imperial  ambassador  himself  He  wears  a  beret 
of  crimson  velvet,  placed  jauntily  aside,  with  a 
plume  of  waving  feathers,  confined  by  a  buckle 
of  precious  stones :  skilfully  arranged  is  the  dra- 
pery of  his  velvet  mantle,"  bordered  round  the 
edge  with  gold  lace.  Poppel,  with  eyes  half- 
shut  in  haughtiness,  and  with  his  hand  placed 
coquettishly  at  his  girdle,  sits  proudly  upon  a 
steed  loaded  with  glittering  caparisons,  and  per- 
petually provokes  his  mettle  with  his  spurs. 
And  in  reality  you  might  have  put  him  into  a 
frame,  and  exhibited  him  in  the  market-place  as 
a  perfect  picture  of  an  equestrian  figure!  'Tis 
the  brightest,  noblest  moment  of  his  life !  The 
triumphal  entry  of  Trajan  into  Rome  after  his 
Dacian  victory — the  bridge  of  Areola — the  sum- 
mit of  the  Pyramids  for  Napoleon  !  Behind  him 
came  his  train,  in  dresses  which  yielded  in  beau- 
ty and  splendour  to  the  ambassador's  habit,  as 
the  moon  yields  to  the  sun.  The  envoy  and  his 
suite  were  without  arms — a  custom  insisted  on 
by  the  suspicious  character  of  the  Russians.  At 
the  end  of  the  procession  again  came  boyarins 
in  two  lines. 

All  this  train  was  to  stop  in  front  of  the  loater- 
nde  hulls.  The  knight  Poppel  had  desired  to 
Tide  up  to  the  very  staircase;  but  as  the  Great 
Prince  alone  had  the  privilege  of  dismounting 
at  the  red  stairs,  the  arrangers  of  the  procession 
had  so  skilfully  crowded  the  people  at  this  spot, 
that  the  proud  knight  was  compelled  to  dismount 
from  his  horse  exactly  where  he  had  been  order- 
ed. At  the  bottom  of  the  stone  steps  he  was 
met  by  the  ok61nitchie  with  low  reverences,  who 
shook  him  by  the  hand,  (a  custom  borrowed 
from  the  foreigners,)  and  with  the  usual  saluta- 


tion in  the  name  of  his  lord.  At  the  middle  of 
the  staircase  was  a  boyarin  who  performed  the 
same  ceremony;  at  the  entrance  to  the  hall,  ihe 
deacon  Koniiizin,  who  conducted  Puppei  into 
the  antechamber.  Inferior  attendants  of  the 
Great  Prince  met  and  conducted  the  ambassa- 
dor's train.  But  here  the  procession  suddenly- 
stopped.  A  slight  confusion  took  place;  dis- 
cussions began  among  the  boyarins;  and  a  mur- 
mur aiose  like  the  buzzmg  of  bees,  when  the 
smoke  drives  them  out  amid  their  toil.  It  was 
suddenly  discovered  that  one  of  the  boyarins  had 
put  on  a  kaftan  that  did  not  belong  to  his  par- 
ticular rank,  and  had  taken  a  wrong  place. 
Then  the  dvoretzkoi  humbly  entreated  the  am- 
bassador and  his  suite  to  return  to  the  staircase 
and  recommence  the  ceremony.  Vexed  and 
mortified,  the  knight  was  compelled  to  perform 
the  great  Castellan's  request.  The  procession 
was  completely  repeated.  At  the  first  palace, 
separated  from  the  apogee  of  the  train  only  by  a 
door,  the  deacon  Koun'tzin  stopped  it.  Here 
there  stood,  on  both  sides,  the  reta  ners  and  the 
inferior  ranks  of  the  nobles,  glittering  in  dresses 
of  state,  which  had  been  given  out  to  them  from 
the  stores  of  the  Great  Prince.  It  seemed  to  the 
foreigners  as  if  they  had  entered  the  enchanted 
palace,  where  people  were  turned  to  stone,  so 
motionless  stood  the  attendants,  without  so  much 
as  winking  —  so  deep  was  the  silence.  The 
stoppage  continued  some  minutes  longer,  during 
which  nothing  was  heard  but  the  impatient  tin- 
kle of  the  knight's  spurs.  At  last  the  door  open- 
ed, and  the  ambassador  and  his  suite  received 
permission  to  enter  the  neio  palace.  On  berth 
sides,  in  two  lines,  stood  boyarins,  looking  like 
sheaves  of  gold.  At  the  extremity  of  the  hall, 
but  not  distinguished  by  any  ornament  except 
that  of  several  rich  images,  and  elevated  on  a 
number  of  steps,  rose  a  throne  of  nut-tree  wood, 
all  carved,  of  fine  Greek  work.  Above  it  blazed 
an  image  in  the  rays  of  precious  gems ;  at  the 
footstool  the  double-headed  eagle  already  dis- 
played its  wings.  The  canopy,  supported  on 
carved  columns,  was  in  the  form  of  a  pyramid. 
At  the  sides  of  the  throne  stood  two  benches 
covered  with  drapery  of  cloth  of  gold,  embr:lci- 
ered  with  lions.  On  one  lay  a  bonnet,  blazing 
with  pearls  and  precious  gems,  and  on  the  other 
an  enchased  staff  or  .sceptre,  a  cross,  a  silver 
wash-hand  basin,  and  two  ewers  and  napkins. 
A  few  paces  backward,  a  single  bench  was  left; 
empty,  and  near  it  an  empty  stovarUzc*  The 
Great  Prince  wa^  habited  in  a  kaftan  of  state,  a 
silver  ground  with  green  leaves  upon  it,  a  gipoa 
of  yellow  satin,  a  collar  of  diamonds  and  to- 
pazes ;  on  his  breast  hung  a  cross  of  cypress- 
wood,  containing  relics:  his  feet,  clothed  in 
shoes  embroidered  in  gold  on  a  ground  of  white 
kid  leather,  rested  on  a  velvet  footstool.  Amid 
the  crowd  of  all  these  persons  and  things,  amid 
the  splendour  of  rich  dresses,  you  were  transfix- 
ed by  the  lightning  eye  of  the  Ru.ssian  sover- 
eign. Poppel  had  already  beheld  those  eyes 
more  than  once ;  but  even  now  he  could  not 
bear  their  thrilling  glance,  and  bent  his  own 
upon  the  ground.  A  few  paces  forward,  and — 
again  a  stoppage,  as  if  in  order  to  prepare  him 
for  the  honour  of  seeing  the  illustrious  counte- 
nance of  Ivan.     At  length  the  ambassador  was 


*  Antiquaries  are  still  undecided  as  to  the  meaniiier  of 
this  wrird  stoyantze,  some  supposin;';'  it  to  mean  a  kind  of 
cupboard  or  niche,  others  a  low  table. 

"  Non  nostrum  est  tantas  componere  lites." 

T.  B.  S. 


122 


THE    HERETIC. 


^conducted  to  the  steps  of  the  throne.  Here 
Kouritzin,  turning  lo  the  Great  Prince  with  a 
low  reverence,  said — "  My  lord,  Great  Sover- 
■eign  of  All  Russia,  the  knight  Nicholas  Poppel, 
ambassador  from  the  Roman  Caesar,  maketh 
obeisance  to  thee;  vouchsafe  him  to  do  saluta- 
•tion  from  his  sovereign."  The  Great  Prince 
nodded  his  head,  and  the  deacon  communicated 
the  permission  lo  the  envoy.  Having  made 
salutation  from  the  Emperor" Frederick  HI.,  and 
the  Austrian  King  Maximilian,  Poppel  ascend- 
ed the  second  step  of  the  throne  and  knelt.  Ivan 
Vassilievitch  arose,  "  and  enquired  concerning 
the  health  o(  the  most  illustrious  and  illumina- 
ted Frederick,  the  Roman  Caesar,  and  the  Ka- 
koussian  king,  and  others  his  right  well  beloved 
allies,  and  gave  his  hand  to  the  ambassador 
•standing,  and  commanded  him  to  sft  upon  the 
bench,  close  over  against  himself"  His  hand, 
<lefiled  by  the  kiss  of  a  Roman  Catholic,  was 
purified  by  washing;  the  service  was  performed 
by  the  dvoretzkoi.  Immediately  after,  the  am- 
bas.sador  and  all  his  attendants  took  their  seats 
■on  the  benches.  After  remaining  seated  a  short 
time,  he  arose,  and  the  boyarins  followed  his 
example.  Then  was  delivered  the  letter  of  trust 
(credentials)  on  a  damask  cushion.  The  Great 
Prince  made  a  movement  as  if  to  touch  it  with 
his  hand,  but  without  doing  so  gave  a  sign  to 
the  deacon,  who  took  the  letter  and  laid  it  on  a 
cushion  in  the  empty  stoyanlze.  Then  the  dea- 
con, again  turning  to  Ivan  Vassilievitch  with 
the  usual  obeisance,  proclaimed — "  Lord,  Great 
Prince  of  All  Russia,  the  ambassador  from  the 
■Caesar  maketh  obeisance  to  thee  with  presents 
from  his  lord."  The  Great  Prince  made  a  gra- 
cious signal  to  the  ambassador,  and  the  imperial 
attendants,  one  after  the  other,  presented  on 
bended  knee  a  collar  and  necklace  of  gold,  fif- 
teen Muscovite  ells  of  velvet  of  Venice,  "dark 
bine  and  fine;"  for  the ^rs^-^om  son  of  the  Great 
Prince /(7i^,  velvet  of  cramoisine  and  gold,  with 
a  lining  of  blue  camelolte."  For  the  gifts  the 
ambassador  was  ordered  to  give  thanks  to  his 
highness.  At  last,  with  the  same  ceremonies, 
the  ambassador  was  commanded  to  speak  in  the 
name  of  his  sovereign.  At  this  moment  Ivan 
Vassilievitch  arose  from  his  throne,  and  made 
several  steps  forward. 

Poppel  spoke  as  follows — "  I  entreat  discretion 
and  secresy.  If  thine  enemies,  the  Poles  and 
Bohemians,  knew  concerning  what  I  am  about 
to  speak,  my  life  would  be  in  peril.  "We  have 
heard  that  thou,  most  illustrious  and  thrice-puis- 
sant Iviin,  most  mighty  lord  of  Russia,  hast  de- 
manded for  thyself  from  the  Pope  the  dignity  of 
king,"  (at  the.«e  words  over  Ivan's  countenance 
flitted  a  dark  shade  of  displeasure.)  "  But  know, 
that  not  the  Pope,  but  the  Emperor  alone,  can 
make  kings,  princes,  and  knights.  If  thou  de- 
sirest  lo  be  a  king,"  (Ivan  Va.ssilievilch  retreat- 
ed, and  sat  down  indignantly  on  his  throne;  the 
harebrained  Poppel,  in  repealing  his  words, 
made  no  change  in  them,)  "  then  do  I  ofler  thee 
my  services  therein.  It  will  be  only  needful  lo 
conceal  this  matter  from  the  Poli>h  king,  who 
fcareih  that  thou,  when  made  a  sovereign  equal 
with  himself,  mayest  take  from  him  the  lands 
anciently  Russian."  Every  word  proved  that 
the  ambassador  understood  neither  the  character 
of  the  ruler  lo  whom  he  was  addressing  himself, 
nor  the  spirit  of  the  people;  that  he  was  igno- 
rant of  the  mere  properties  of  time  and  place: 
every  word  betrayed  Poppel's  folly  and  inexpe- 
rience.    To  this  harangue  our  Ivan  replied  firm- 


ly, with  a  majestic  voice,  and  without  rising 
from  the  throne — "  Thou  askest  us,  whether  we 
desire  to  be  made  by  the  Ciesar  a  king  in  our 
own  land.  Know,  Sir  Poplefl!",  we  have  been, 
by  God's  grace,  lords  in  our  land  from  the  be- 
ginning, from  our  first  ancestors;  we  have  our 
place  from  God;  even  as  our  forefathers  had  it, 
even  so  have  we;  and  we  ask  God  alone  that  be 
may  grant  to  us  and  to  our  children  to  be  even 
for  ever,  as  we  are  now,  lords  in  our  land.  But 
to  hold  it  as  vassals  from  any  other  we  have 
never  willed  as  yet,  nor  even  now  will  we." 
The  deacon  Kouritzin  repeated  this  speech  to 
the  interpreter.  A  terrible  moment  for  Barthol- 
omew I  Not  to  translate  with  perfect  accuracy, 
word  for  word,  the  speech  of  his  formidable  mas- 
ter to  the  imperial  ambassador,  was  more  than 
he  dared,  because  the  deacon  understood  toler- 
ably well  the  German  language  ;  to  translate  it 
accurately  would  incense  the  ambassador.  How- 
ever, personal  security,  which  he  had  often  sa- 
crificed to  serve  others,  obtained  the  preference, 
and  he,  hesitating  and  trembling,  performed  his 
duty  of  interpreter.  It  was  very  easy  for  Poppel 
to  understand,  from  Ivan's  wrathful  eyes,  the 
general  purport  of  the  speech. 

Already  these  messengers  of  anger  had  agitat- 
ed him.  When  he  heard  the  substance  of  the 
speech  he  stood  confused,  like  a  schoolboy  de- 
tected in  a  fault,  for  which  he  has  been  previously 
warned  that  he  will  be  punished.  His  confusion 
was  still  further  increased  by  a  circumstance  of 
the  moment.  When  he,  at  the  opening  of  his 
speech,  made  his  bow  lo  the  Great  Prince  and  his 
court,  he  remarked  among  the  latter  the  counte- 
nance of  a  young  boyarin  which  forcibly  struck 
him.  It  was  the  exact  image  of  the  Baroness 
Ehrenstein  in  ber  younger  days.  The  baroness 
never  loved  Poppel ;  this  he  well  knew  and  well 
remembered.  Her  stern  glance,  in  which  he  had 
ever  read  evident  aversion — her  harsh  unfriend- 
ly words  were  inscribed  upon  his  very  heart. 
Now,  at  the  triumphant  moment  of  his  life,  it 
seemed  as  though  she  appeared  before  him  in 
the  palace  of  the  Great  Prince  to  spoil  his  tii- 
umph  and  to  add  to  his  confusion.  In  the  young 
boyarin  he  beheld  the  same  stern  wrathfulg  lance, 
the  same  expression  of  ill-will ! 

The  knight,  naturally  insolent,  here  lost  his 
self-possession  altogether,  and  did  not  even  at- 
tempt to  find  an  answer,  in  order  lo  repair,  if. 
possible,  his  mistake.  In  the  eyes  of  Ivan  Vas- 
silievitch was  expressed  the  gratification  of  a 
triumph  gained  over  a  distinguished  foreigner. 
Having  enjoyed  this  triumph,  he  hastened  to  re- 
assure the  ambassador  with  gracious  words;  he 
had  no  wish  to  interrupt  the  friendship  which  he 
had  but  just  established  with  the  German  .states, 
the  rather  as  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
other  propositions  of  the  ambassador,  which  flat- 
tered his  self-love.  "  This  is  no  impediment," 
said  Ivan,  "to  our  good  understanding  with  the 
Roman  Caesar.  Therefore  we  have  received  the 
letter  of  trust  and  gifts  from  his  highness  and 
majesty  with  all  love."  These  words,  commu- 
nicated in  order  through  the  deacon  and  interpre- 
ter, encouraged  Poppel. 

It  is  known  that  at  this  audience  the  ambassa- 
dor, "  in  the  name  of  Frederick,  proposed  that 
Ivan  should  give  one  of  1ms  daughters.  Helena 
or  f>odosia,'to  Albrecht,  Markgrnf  of  Baden, 
the  Emperor's  nephew,  and  thai  he  should  be 
allowed  to  see  the  bride."  The  Great  Prince 
willinsly  accepted  the  proposal,  and  consented, 
in  performance  of  this  afBair,  to  dispatch  to  the 


THE   HERETIC. 


133 


Emperor,  along  with  Poppel,  an  ambassador  of 
his  own.  As  to  the  desire  of  seeing  the  bride, 
Ivan  Vassilievitch  explained  that  the  customs 
of  Russia  did  not  permit  a  maiden  to  be  shown 
before  the  time  to  her  bridegroom  or  his  repre- 
.sentalive.  Then  came  a  request  on  the  part  of 
Poppel,  that  Ivan  should  forbi.d  the  people  of 
Pskoff  from  passing  into  the  lands  of  the  "  Livo- 
iiian  Germans,"  subjects  of  the  Empire.  The 
Great  Prince  ordered  him  to  be  answered — 
"  That  the  men  of  Pskoft'  had  lands  of  their  own, 
and  would  not  pass  out  into  the  territories  ot 
others."  Thus  were  the  political  demands  dis- 
posed of  The  face  of  the  young  boyarin  remind- 
-ed  the  ambassador  of  his  domestic  affairs.  He 
remembered  the  leech  Ehrenstein  ;  and  in  his 
desire  to  injure  his  uncle's  kinsman,  and  the  man 
he  called  his  rival,  his  envious  heart  found  a 
pretext  for  directing  the  conversation,  such  as, 
assuredly,  he  would  never  have  been  supplied 
with  by  a  course  of  rhetoric  so  fertile  in  pretexts. 
He  communicated  to  Ivan  Vassilievitch  the  re- 
quest "  of  his  holy  Coesarian  Majesty,  to  have 
some  live  animals,  called  in  Russian /o^s,  (inoosc- 
deer,)  if  possible  young,  without  horns,  or  with 
their  horns  filed,  so  that  they  could  do  no  hurt ; 
and  one  of  the  Bogouliats,  who  eat  raw  flesh. 
"  These  gifts  his  Caesarian  Majesty  would  count 
as  singular  favours"'  said  Poppel.  "  [n  ex- 
change, he  promiseth  to  send  thee  a  leech  from 
his  court,  Master  Leon,  most  skilful  in  the  heal- 
ing of  all  manner  of  diseases.  He  was  no  pre- 
tender, this  leech,  hut  right  wise,  learned — hav- 
ing the  diploma  of  leech  from  the  Emperor 
himself;  famous  not  only  in  the  imperial  domin- 
ions, but  even  in  foreign  lands.  And  I  am  com- 
manded by  my  most  high  and  illustrious  lord  to 
say— Tru.st  not  too  much  to  a  leech  who  hath 
been  sent  to  thee  from  the  German  lands."  "  How 
sol"  asked  Ivan.  "  He  is  an  adventurer,  a  pre- 
tender, an  ignor"  .  .  . 

At  these  words  the  young  boyarin  who  had  so 
much  struck  the  knight  by  his  resemblance  to  the 
Baroness  Ehrenstein,  seemed  about  to  rush  for- 
ward out  of  the  line  of  the  Russian  courtiers:  it 
was  Antony  himself.  He  flushed  up  and  trem- 
bled with  anger,  when  he  heard  the  insulting 
speech  of  Poppel.  His  lips  were  about  to  utter, 
in  the  hearing  of  all,  the  word  "  liar  ;"  but  Aris- 
to  te,  who  was  standing  next  to  him,  so  strongly 
seized  him  by  the  arm  and  pressed  it,  the  Great 
Prince  so  covered  him  with  his  fiery  glance,  and 
sternly  raise  I  his  finger,  that  he  restrained  him- 
self ....  God  knows,  what  an  uproar  Anto- 
ny's fatal  word  might  have  produced  in  the  as- 
sembly, and  what  a  dreadful  storm  it  might  have 
called  down  upon  his  head.  But  when  Ivan 
Vassilievitch  had  majestically  restrained  and 
dispelled  the  tempest,  he  himself  arose  in  defence 
of  the  insulted — "  It  is  not  well  in  thee.  Sir  Nik- 
olai Popleff,"  said  he,  "to  speak  evil  of  our 
court  physician:  his  skill  and  devotion  Antony 
has  proved  more  than  once  by  deeds.  Antony 
is  dear  to  us  for  ever,  and,  therefore,  we  hold 
him  in  our  favour.  And  we  neither  want  nor 
desire  another  leech.  As  to  the  Bogouliatim, 
who  eateth  raw  flesh,  and  the  young  los.ws,  Ivan 
Vassilievitch  promiseth  them  right  willingly. 
And,  at  the  same  time,  he  would  request  work- 
men, diggers  of  mines,  and  a  miner  wh«i  is  skill- 
ed in  separating  gold  and  silver  from  the  earth, 
and  a  skilful  silver-master,  who  knoweth  how  to 
make  great  bowls  and  flagons,  to  enchase  and 
carve  the  bowls."  With  this  interchange  of  re- 
.  quests  the  audience  concluded.    The  ambassador 


was  conducted  away  with  the  same  honour  as  he 
had  been  introduced,  if  not  even  with  more,  as  it 
was  necessary  to  sweeten  -the  bitternesi  of  the 
answers  that  had  been  given  him. 

Infuriated  by  the  failure  of  his  dipLmalic  ex- 
periments, from  which  he  had  expected  great 
favour,  both  with  the  Emperor  and  the  Great 
Prince ;  infuriated  at  the  failure  of  his  attempt 
to  overthrow  Antony  Ehrenstein  in  the  estima- 
tion of  the  Russian  ruler;  pursued  by  the  family 
resemblance  between  his  foe  and  the  baroness, 
Poppel  cursed  himself  and  his  fate.  Thus  a 
poor  fisherman,  who  has  unsuccessfully  cast  his 
nets  for  days  together,  is  ready  almost  to  throw 
himself  into  the  water.  Amid  these  black 
thoughts,  he  was  interrupted  by  a  letter  from 
Antony  the  leech  ;  this  was  a  challenge  to  sin- 
gle combat  for  personal  insults.  With  trembling 
hand  Poppel  answered — "The  knight,  Nicolas 
Poppel,  by  adoption  Baron  Ehrenstein,  girded 
with  the  sword  by  the  hand  of  the  Emperor,  will 
never  degrade  himself  so  far  as  to  take  up  the 
glove  thrown  down  by  a  base  quacksalver." 
"  In  that  case,"  replied  Antony, "  the  noble  leech 
Ehrenstein  gives  him,  a  vile  coward,  a  blow 
with  his  glove,  which  the  most  noble  knight 
may  show  to  his  Emperor,  as  a  proof  that  he  is 
unworthy  to  bear  his  honourable  title."  Poppel 
received  the  box  on  the  ear  like  a  philosopher, 
in  the  hope  of  paying  it  back  with  a  blow  that 
should  give  more  pain. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  PROPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE. 

"  O  my  father,  O  ray  dearest  sire  ! 
Tell  me  why  thou  art  olfended,  say, 
With  thy  child,  thy  little  daughter  dear; 
That  thou  givest  her  to  stranger  folk  ; 
To  a  stranger  folk  she  knoweth  not ; 
To  a  stranger  land,  a  land  afar  ? 
Hath  she,  then,  so  soon  wearied  thee  1 
That  thou  drivest  her  from  thine  eyes  afar: 
Have  I  worn  out  all  my  garments  gay? 
Have  I  eaten  of  the  sugar'd  cates  ? 
Have  I  drank  the  mead,  the  honey  dew? 
Have  I  trodden  down  the  garden  green?" 

From  the  moment  of  Anastasia's  visit  to  the 
beloved  stranger,  there  had  at  times  crept  into 
her  heart  the  feeling  of  having  done  wrong. 
She  felt  all  the  burden  of  a  secret  concealed 
from  her  father.  At  other  moments  she  was 
continually  haunted  by  the  dark  thought  that 
she  was  enchanted  by  Antony;  but  this  re- 
morse, this  dark  idea,  was  soon  put  to  flight  by 
recollections  of  the  sweet  moments  which  love 
had  afforded  her.  Now,  the  mere  separation 
from  Antony  tormented  her  more  than  all.  She 
longed  for  one  more  delicious  interview  with 
him,  for  one  more  maddening  kiss !  .  .  .  .  All 
she  thought  of  was,  how  she  would  be  caressed 
by  Antony,  when  she  would  belong  to  God  and 
him  alone. 

His  thoughts  and  feelings  were  elevated  above 
earthly  joy.  Like  a  red-cross  knight,  he  had 
started  to'deliver  the  Tomb  of  our  Lord  from 
the  yoke  of  the  infidel ;  on  the  journey  he  had 
been  benighted  in  an  enchanted  forest,  and  had 
there  met  with  a  young  inexperienced  fellow 
pilgrim,  a  brother  of  the  cross.  Discovering 
his  delu.sion,  it  was  his  duty  to  put  himself  and 
his  ward  on  the  true  path.  How  could  he  re- 
member at  such  a  moment  the  pleasures  of  the 
tourney,  or  the  crown  of  victory '?....  And 
thus  Antony  thought  only  how  to  save  the  soul 


124 


THE   HERETIC. 


of  his  mistress  from  earthly,  and  perhaps  eter- 
nal ruin.  He  was  sometimes  afflicted  by  the 
apprehension  that  he  would  do  great  sin  in  leav- 
ing the  religion  of  his  fathers ;  but  beside  this 
fear  appeared  another  and  a  triumphant  thought, 
of  the  sanctity  of  duty,  of  the  unavoidableness 
of  the  sacrifice.  The  nearer  his  desire  was  to 
its  fulfillment,  the  more  was  his  heart  cleansed 
from  the  impurities  of  passion.  Often,  and  even 
without  any  assignable  reason,  he  became 
mournful,  very  mournful;  then  he  would  pray 
— of  what,  God  only  knew;  his  prayers  were 
not  expressed  in  words,  but  only  in  burning 
tears.  His  happiness  was  so  obscure !  .  .  .  . 
with  its  bright  torrent  a  streani  of  impurity  was 
mingled  .... 

Two  letters,  one  to  his  mother,  the  other  to 
his  instructor,  were  sent  through  Kouritzin.     In 
the  first,  Antony  besought  his  parent's  blessing 
on  the  great  work  which  he  was  approaching, 
and  entreated  her  to  come  into  Russia,  if  but  to 
visit  him.     "  You  yourself  desired,  my  dearest, 
precious  mother,"  he  wrote,  "  that  I  should  never 
again  return  either  into  Bohemia  or  to  Italy,  and 
that  I  should  find  a  settlement  here.     You  your- 
self have  often  hinted  that  the  performance  of 
this  desire  would  be  the  best  consolation  of  your 
old  age,  and  add  to  your  prospect  of  tranquil- 
lity at  your  death.     Providence  has  evidently 
willed  the  same  thing  as  yourself;  it  has  brought 
me  here  to   the  house   of  a  Russian   boyarin, 
where  love  has  created  me  a  new  country.     If 
you  knew  Anaslasia  (here  he  decribes  her  ex- 
ternal and  mental  qualities)  ;  if  you  knew  how 
much  she  loves  me,  you  would  assuredly  wish 
me  no  other  partner."     Nearly  the  same  were 
the  contents  of  the  letter  to  his  instructor.     In  it 
he  added  the  weight  of  his  doubts  on  the  subject 
of  his  change  of  religion  ;  and  even  here  he  qui- 
eted his  conscience  by  the  reflection  that  he  had 
chosen  a  faith  not  torn  to  pieces  by  corruption, 
with  which  the  Western  Church  might  be  re- 
proached.    Antony  wrote  with    confidence   re- 
specting his  future  union.     Whether  this  confi- 
dence was  well  founded  we  shall  presently  see. 
As  soon  as  Aristotle  found  himself  recover- 
ing from  his  illness,  his  young  friend  hastened 
to  disclose  to  him  the  state  of  his  heart,  his 
wishes,  his  hopes,  his  fears.     In  what  employ- 
ment, do  you  think,  did  Antony  find  the  artist'? 
He  was  again  composing  plans  for  his  immense 
church.     To  tear  himself  from  that  would  have 
been  death  to  him.     He  was  all  wrapped  up  in 
his  occupation.     When  the  leech  entered,  Aris- 
totle turned  red  and  pale,  as  if  he  had  been  de- 
tected in  .some  crime,  mnd  hastened  to  conceal 
the  plan  as  well  as  he  could.    Instead  of  finding 
in  the  artist  a  zealous  second  to  his  marriage 
projects,  Antony  discovered  in  him  an  ardent 
opponent  of  the  affair.     His  terrible  trial  had 
rriade  Aristotle  timorous  even  to  weakness  ;  in 
every  thing  he  could  see  nothing  but  fflilure. 
He  promised  Antony,  however,  lo  be  his  advo- 
cate with  the  boyarin  Obrazetz,  as  his  ncarc5»( 
relation— as  his  father.     But  he  gave  him  no 
hopes,  dilating  upon    the   invincible   obstacles 
presented  in  the  voevoda's  hatred  to  the  German 
— one  of  the  race  of  his  accursed  foes — even 
though  that  German  should  adopt  the  Ru.ssian 
faith.     Such  a  beginning  promi.sed  no  good  ; 
now,  as   always  happens,  obstacles  excited  in 
Antony  a  stronger  desire  to  obtain  the  object 
wl'ich'constiluietl  the  happiness  and  torment  of 
his  life. 

Walking  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  and  pro- 


foundly plunged  in  melancholy  thought,  Anto- 
ny was  proceeding  home; — in  his  way,  puffing, 
purple  with  heat  and  violent  movement,  stood 
the  interpreter  Bartholomew.  He  stopped  ex- 
actly in  his  path,  so  as  not  to  be  avoided,  bow- 
ing low,  shaking  his  head  and  foot,  and  fanning 
himself  with  his  cap:  he  attempted  to  speak,  but 
fatigue  prevented  him.  The  young  man  polite- 
ly begged  him  to  let  him  pass. 

"Nay,  most  thrice-worshipful  sir,"  said  Bar- 
tholomew at  last  with  unusual  warmth,  as  if  he 
had  suddenly  got  down  a  morsel  that  was  stick- 
ing in  his  throat — "Nay,  I  will  not  let  you  pass 
till  you  listen  to  me.  You  may  kill  me,  you 
may  thrash  me,  only  hear  me  out.  You  do  not 
love  me — you  hate  me,  despise  me,  I  know  full 
well;  but  I  cannot  help  loving  you — that  is 
above  my  powers.  I  am  the  same  as  I  was  at 
the  first  moment  when  I  saw  you  ....  I  feel 
just  the  same  respect  for  you,  the  same  ardent 
love,  and  I  am  ready  to  sacrifice  for  you,  God 
knows  what.  Do  with  me  what  you  .... 
Now,  what  would  you  like  to  make  of  me  T 
....  Your  most  devoted  slave  1  ....  'Tis 
nothing  ....  Your  packhorse"?  ....  Or 
worse  1  ....  Ah!  to  find  something  worse t 
....  Now,  think  yourself  .... 

And  Bartholc<n6w  began  to  beat  himself  des- 
pairingly on  the  bosom  with  his  fist,  like  a  scur- 
vy actor,  who  is  out  in  his  part.  With  con- 
tempt Antony  looked  at  him,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  You  will  not  speak ;  do  but  listen  then.  You 
do  not  knowpt;  but  I  am  your  most  devoted 
servant,  your  most  humble  of  slaves,  I  know 
....  A  report  is  going  through  the  city  ;  it  may 
reach  the  father  ....  or  the  brother  ....  then 
your  death  would  be  inevitable  ....  They  say 
you  have  seduced  An''  .... 

"Wretch!  finish  not  the  word,  or  I  will  slay 
thee,  here,  on  the  spot!"  cried  the  young  man, 
turning  pale,  and  trembling  in  every  limb;  and, 
as  if  fearing  that  his  menaces  might  be  fulfilled, 
he  rushed  headlong  away  from  the  contemptible 
informer. 

"  And  thus,  after  all,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  thj 
honour  of  a  maiden — thanks  to  me  !— is  bandied 
from  mouth  to  mouth  :  even  this  vile  scoundrel 
is  trumpeting  it  about!  Assuredly  her  friend 
must  have  disclosed  it!  ...  .  How  can  I  hope 
lo  save  her  in  time  from  the  arrows  of  scandal  1 
Where  is  the  generosity,  where  the  use  of  the 
sacrifice?  One  wav  alone  is  left  me — to  throw 
myself  at  the  Great  Prince's  feet,  tell  him  all, 
arid  implore  him  to  be  my  saviour  and  benefac- 
tor. I  will  do  it  instantly.  He  hinted  so  gra- 
ciously about  a  bride,  that  I  will  be  my  own  ad- 
vocate." 

Antonv  bent  his  steps  to  the  palace  of  the 
Great  Prince ;  but  as  he  was  passing  Kourit- 
zin's  house,  his  good  angel  whispered  him  to  ap- 
ply lo  the  deacon,  who  had  been  so  zealous  in 
his  interest.s.  He  found  him  engaged  in  an  im- 
portant occupation.  It  was,  we  may  add,  a  dif- 
ficult one,  because  Kouritzin,  the  protector  of 
the  .Jewish  heresy  in  Russia,  had  been  compell- 
ed, by  order  of  the  Great  Prince,  to  draw  up  a 
list  of  the  heretics,  with  a  decree  of  banishment 
and  other  penalties  against  them,  which,  how- 
ever, were  not  severe.  On  this  occasion,  Ivan 
Vassilievitch  had  perfectly  understood  his  rela- 
tions and  his  duties  as  regarded  his  favourite 
.servant;  and  that  servant  had  no  less  clearly 
comprehended,  as  his  master  desired,  his  duties 
to  him,  and  his  relations  with  his  brother  here- 


THE   HERETIC. 


121S 


tics.  As  generally  occurs  in  these  cases,  Kou- 
litzin  had  made  his  list  of  those  persons  who 
Avere  most  insignilicant,  least  to  be  relied  on, 
and  most  credulous  of  all. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  explaining  to  the  young  man 
what  he  was  about,  '•  here  at  last  I^r.in  Vassilie- 
vitch,  under  the  influence  of  the  priests,  hath 
•opened  his  eyes!  ....  A  shrewd  heresy  this 
'that  hath  been  disclosed !....!  long  ago  said 
to  him— he  hearkened  not,  believed  not!  ...  . 
Oh,  if  thou  didst  but  know,  Master  Leech,  how 
much  there  is  of  what  is  attractive  and  sublime 
in  this  heresy  !  Wherefore  hath  it  spread  day 
afier  day  1  .  .  .  .  And  nevertheless  it  is  a  terri- 
ble crime,  the  ruin  of  the  people  !  ....  It  must 
be  rooted  up,  cost  what  it  may  ....  And  on 
this  occasion  Ivan  Vassilievitch  is  too  merciful, 
or  too  obstinate.  He  saith — I  will  not  do  as  the 
^people  like!  and  thus  he  hindereth  me  much. 
What !  he  haih  decreed  the  most  trilling  punish- 
ments, mere  child's  play,  nothing  but  a  mock- 
ery !  .  .  .  .  One  is  to  be  exiled  to  a  distant  city, 
another  to  be  mocked  by  the  people  ....  and 
thou  seest  thyself"  .... 

The  report  had  certainly  reached  Antony,  that 
Kourilzin  belonged  to  the  Jewish  heresy,  body 
and  soul.  He  was  not  therefore  astonished  at 
Lis  cunning;  he  had  ceased  to  be  astonished  at 
any  thing.  It  was  no  time  to  examine  into  his 
xeal  religious  opinions,  and  to  endeavour  to  turn 
■him  to  ihe  truih,  and  therefore  the  young  man 
,  hastened  to  disclose  to  him  his  position.  He 
praised  Antony's  intentions;  revived  and  en- 
couraged his  hopes;  told  him  that  the  Great 
Prince  was  already  informed  of  the  inclination 
of  his  court  physician  for  the  daughter  of  Obra- 
zetz.  That  the  sovereign  was  in  possession  of 
this  secret,  Kouritzin  confessed  was  owing  to  his 
inlbrmation ;  but  the  manner  in  which  it  became 
known  to  Kouritzin,  he  neither  could  nor  dared 
disclose. — "  Some  day  or  other  thou  wilt  know 
this,"  said  the  deacon,  and  then  added — "  Ivan 
Vassilievitch  is  already  thine  advocate.  Adopt 
the  Russian  faith,  and  1  pledge  myself  to  add 
my  own  intercession  with  him ;  but  I  fear,  if 
thou  attempt  too  rudely  to  turn  our  lord,  thou 
wilt  spoil  all.  My  counsel,  for  the  better  success 
of  this  affair,  is,  to  seek  a  sensible,  dexterous 
svat,  not  among  the  great  men  of  the  land,  not 
among  princes  and  boyarins,  but  a  private  man, 
who  may  vanquish  Obrazetz's  aversion  to  a  fo- 
reigner. And  this  I  cannot  undertake — we  are 
strangers,  as  thou  knowest,  to  each  other.  Stay, 
let  me  .see,  whom  can  we  find  ....  Ay,  so 
.  .  .  .  ,  whom  better  than  the  TveritchiDin  Apho- 
nia!   ....    I  think  thou  knowest  him  1" 

"  I  know  him,  and  will  add,  as  far  as  I  can 
judge  from  my  connexion  with  him,  he  loveth 
me  well,  notwithstanding  my  being  a  heretic. 
More  than  once  have  I  wandered  with  him  in 
fancy  over  the  German  and  Italian  lands,  and 
for  this  he  counts  himself  in  my  debt." 

"  Be  it  so,  in  God's  name  !  Implore  him  to  be 
thy  svat.  Tell  him  that  thou  lovest  Obrazetz's 
daughter,  having  seen  her  only  once  at  the  win- 
dow, and  that  after  thy  return  from  Tver.  Of 
course,  as  a  foundation  of  the  business,  thou 
must  lay  down  a  promise  to  take  our  Russian 
orthodox  faith — it  is  the  fountain  of  all  bles- 
sings, (the  heretic  pronounced  these  words  with 
a  well-affected  unction.)  And  add,  too,  the  will 
of  our  most  mighty  Lord,  Ivan  Vassilievitch. 
Only  beware  of  saying  that  Isent  thee;  this  is 
indispensable.  And  now,  from  my  heart  I  ^Ish 
thee  joy  of  a  beautiful  wife  and  possessions." 


"No,  on  this  occasion  1  will  accept  no  valu- 
able gifts  from  the  Great  Prince,  even  though  by 
so  doing  I  expose  myself  to  his  displeasure.  I 
will  not  sell  myself.  At  least  my  soul  shall  be 
clear,  here  and  in  the  other  world,  of  the  stain  of 
avarice.  In  all  the  rest  I  will  obey  thee;  and, 
to  prove  this,  I  will  go  straight  from  thy  house  lo 
Aphanasii  Nikitin." 

"  Wilt  thou  go  alone,  on  foot,  to  the  village  ot 
Tchertolino  ■?"  asked  Kouritzin. 

"Alone.  What  have  I  to  fearl  I  did  not 
take  my  horse,  in  order  not  to  excite  curiosity  in 
the  places  I  was  visiting." 

"  Why  not  defer  it  till  to-morrow  1  The  way 
is  long,  there  is  a  wood  to  pass  surrounded  by 
marshes  ....  Thou  hast  enemies  ....  thou  hast 
forgotten  Poppel"  .... 

"  I  do  not  think  that  the  knight  will  attempt 
the  assassin's  trade.  With  God's  blessing,  I 
have  decided.  To-morrow,  perhaps,  it  will  be  too 
late." 

"  Thou  hast  said  well.  Thy  friends  will  be  on 
their  guard." 

There  was  nothing  for  Antony  to  do  but  to 
thank  the  deacon. 

On  arriving  at  the  cottage  where  the  traveller 
dwelt,  the  leech  heard  streaming  from  it  sounds 
of  religious  singing.  The  tones  were  so  light, 
so  free  from  aught  earthly,  they  seemed  to  speak 
of  peace  of  soul,  unity,  a  child-like  simplicity, 
and  yet  at  times  a  masculine  strength  of  feeling, 
tenderness,  warmth  penetrating  your  heart  and 
the  marrow  of  your  bones.  This  was  not  the 
voice  of  earthly  passion,  this  was  the  language 
of  communion  with  God.  Ehrenstein  stopped 
at  the  gate  and  listened  to  the  sacred  song  with 
rapture.  The  sounds  sank  lower  and  lower,  and 
suddenly  ceased,  as  if  they  were  vanishing  on 
earth,  laden  with  the  burden  of  their  heavenly 
load.  But  Antony  had  not  recovered  from  the 
feeling  of  tenderness  which  came  over  him,  when 
the  song  was  heard  anew.  Now  it  was  a  voice, 
mournful  and  agonizing  the  soul !  The  old  man 
sang — "  Weep  not  for  me,  oh  mother,  when  thou 
see'st  me  in  the  grave !"  The  address  to  a  moth- 
er, the  grave,  the  sad  lamenting  song,  brought 
sorrow  in  spite  of  himself,  and  a  holy  awe  into 
the  young  man's  heart.  '•  Oh,  is  the  voice  pro- 
phetic, thou  saintly  old  man !  ....  Is  thy  voice 
prophetic  1"  .  .  .  .  said  he  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
removing  his  hand  from  the  ring  with  which  he 
was  going  to  knock  upon  the  door  post.  He  was 
just  about  to  retire  from  the  gate,  and  he  chang- 
ed his  mind.  "  I  am  a  child,  a  coward!"  said 
he  to  himself;  "  what !  can  the  address  of  the  Son 
of  God  to  his  mother  so  confuse  thee  1  In  the 
name  of  the  Lord  I  will  go  about  thy  holy  work, 
and  will  not  fear  the  arrow  that  flee'th  from  the 
darkness." 

With  the  last  word  he  knocked  at  the  gate, 
and  at  Aphanasii  Nikitin's  question,  "  Who  Com- 
eth 1"  he  replied  — "  In  the  name  of  the  Lord." 
The  gate  was  immediately  opened  ;  and,  as  was 
customary,  the  person  who  admitted  him  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  to  guard  against  any  evil 
accident.  Aphonia  did  not  refuse  acquaintance 
with  foreigners;  with  what  a  multitude  of  na- 
tions had  he  communicated  !  In  all  his  inter- 
course with  them,  however,  he  signed  himself 
with  the  cross,  which,  he  was  convinced,  had 
often  saved  him  from  harm. 

His  dwelling  was  poor,  but  clean.  The  prin- 
cipal ornament  of  the  chamber  consisted  in  an 
image  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  on  the  bottom  of  which 
the  traveller  had  displayed  all  the  rare  objects 


126 


THE    HERETIC. 


■which  he  had  been  able  to  bring  to  Russia  from 
distant  lands.  Indian  mats  for  ornaments,  pearls 
and  precious  stones  on  the  dress  of  ihe  image, 
palm-leaves  and  branches  of  the  date-tree,  beau- 
tiful feathers  of  rare  birds,  forming  the  frame. 
There  was  his  past,  his  present,  and  his  future: 
here  he  had  united  all  his  wealth,  earthly  and 
heavenly. 

"Is  it  willingly  or  unwillingly  that  thou  com- 
est  to  me  1"  asked  the  old  man. 

"Unwillingly,"  replied  the  youth,  "because  I 
have  come  upon  a  business  of  life  and  death : 
willingly,  because  I  have  chosen  thee  in  this 
business,  Aphanasii  Nikitich,  to  be  to  me  a  fa- 
ther.    Be  my  father,  refuse  me  not !" 

Such  a  commencement  astonished  the  Tver- 
itchanin.  But  when  the  young  man  began  to 
relate  his  determinations  and  his  request,  the 
old  man's  solitary  eye  gleamed  with  a  strange 
light ;  his  lips  parted  in  a  smile.  When  he  had 
heard  the  demand  he  expressed  his  perfect  will- 
ingness to  be  Antony's  advocate  and  svat,  for  the 
sake  of  doing  a  deed  of  Christian  charity:  only 
the  success  must  be  left  in  the  hand  of  the 
Lord. 

"  Remain  here  in  my  house  an  hour,"  said 
Aphonia,  seizing  his  cap  and  staff;  "1  wil  re- 
turn straightway.  An  evil  deed  thou  shouldst 
put  off  from  day  to  day,  and  pray  ;  haply  it  will 
Jbe  weary  of  hrooding  m  thy  bosom,  and  will  be 
driven  out  by  prayer;  in  good  hour  it  will  van- 
ish, like  an  evil  spirit  at  the  sound  of  the  matin- 
bell.  With  a  good  deed  'tis  different.  When 
thou  see'st  a  precious  bird,  aim  at  it  instantly 
with  thine  arrow,  bend  thy  bow — 'tis  thine,  the 
bird  of  heaven.  Let  it  fly,  and  it  is  lost  in  the 
skies." 

"  I  am  only  afraid  tliat  I  came  inopportunely," 
said  Antony ;  "  I  was  about  to  knock  at  thy  door 
when  I  heard  thee  singing  a  dirge.  It  filled  my 
soul  with  unspeakable  sorrow.  How  couldst 
thou  so  soon  turn  from  praising  the  Lord  to  such 
a  song  as  that"?" 

"HowT'  answered  the  Tveritchanin,  a  little 
confused ;  "  I  cannot  well  tell  thee  how.  It  was 
God's  hour,  not  mine.  But  afflict  not  thyself  in 
vain.  Where  the  Lord  is,  there  all  is  happiness 
and  good.  Let  us  pray  to  him,  and  rejoice  our 
souls  in  him." 

And  the  old  man  prostrated  body  and  soul  be- 
fore the  image — Antony  followed  him. 

"  Now,  having  prayed,  with  God  s  blessing  we 
will  leave  ourselves  to  his  judgment,"  said  the 
former,  and  left  the  cottage. 

We  may  guess  in  what  a  state  of  agitation 
the  young  man  was  left.  Every  step,  every  word 
of  the  strange  mediator  between  him  and  his 
fate,  was  counted  and  weighed  in  his  ab.sence ; 
counted  as  though  by  Ihe  throbbing  of  his  sink- 
ing heart. 

"  Now,"  thought  Antony,  "  the  old  man  has 
reached  Obrazelz's  gate,  now  he  is  ascending  the 
stairs  ....  He  is  in  the  boyarin's  chamber  .... 
he  pronounces  Anastasia's  name,  and  mine  .  .  . 
My  lot  is  being  weighed  in  the  balance  of  fate 
.  .  .  .  O  Lord !  cast  down  upon  it  a  glance  of 
mercy !" 

In  the  mean  time  Aphonia  had  swiftly  direct- 
ed his  steps  to  the  dwelling  of  Obrazetz,  revolv- 
ing in  his  head  and  heart  speeches  by  which  he 
could  successfully  act  upon  Anastasia's  father. 
The  traveller  had  not  long  before  been  with  a 
holy  man,  Josiph  of  Volok,  and  had  listened  to 
the  sacred  eloquence  addressed  from  his  mellif- 
luent I  ills  to  ac  ertain  bovarin,  whose  heart  was 


deeply  touched  by  it.  From  this  fountain  he 
prepared  to  draw  on  the  present  occasion.  At 
first,  however,  his  road  was  rugged,  and  his 
breast  at  times  required  a  moment  to  breathe; 
his  trembling  hand  seized  the  ring  and  knocked 
uncertainly  at  the  pillar  of  the  gate.  The  boy- 
arin  was  at  home,  they  opened  the  wicket  to 
Aphonia ;  to  Aphonia  it  was  never  shut,  at  what- 
ever hour  of  the  day  he  might  come.  He  as- 
cends the  stairs.  In  the  antechamber  he  stopped 
to  breathe,  and  to  arrange  his  dress  and  beard. 

Vassilii  Feodorovitch  was  in  bed  in  his  cham- 
ber. He  was  grievously  ill.  Never  before  in 
his  life  had  he  felt  any  serious  attack,  and  there- 
fore his  present  malady,  which  had  suddenly 
seized  him,  seemed  a  dangerous  sign.  A  bed  of 
sickness — perhaps  of  death — and  the  future — 
these  were  the  great  themes  which  presented 
themselves  to  the  natural  eloquence  of  our  trav- 
eller-orator. 

As  usual,  Ihe  guest  entering  the  chamber, 
placed  his  staff  near  the  door,  made  three  signs 
of  the  cross  before  the  image,  and  a  low  obeis- 
ance to  the  master  of  the  house,  and  wished  him 
good  health;  as  usual,  the  host  greeted  him  af- 
fectionately, and  seated  him  in  the  place  of  hon- 
our. After  a  little  dialogue  on  both  sides,  the 
Tveritchanin  began  as  follows: — "So  now  the 
beautil'ul  summer  is  gone.  The  birds  have  made 
their  nests,  have  brought  up  their  young  ones, 
have  fed  them,  and  taught  them  to  fly.  The 
wind  may  arise  from  the  north — it  is  no  longer 
feared  by  the  nestlings ;  their  parents  have 
shown  them  the  way  through  the  heavens  to 
sunny  waters,  and  to  meadows  of  abundance. 
If  the  old  birds  delay  too  long  to  take  out  the 
young,  what  wonderif  the  snowy  winter  finds 
the  little  nestlings — the  poor  birds  !" 

The  boyarin  gazed  fixedly  at  Aphonia's  face, 
and  said-^"  Thou  hast  some  meaning  in  thy 
words,  Nikitich." 

"Thou  knowest  well,  boyarin,  before  the  tale 
there  is  always  a  prologue;  and  I  am  leailing 
my  discourse  to  this,  that  our  life  is  but  a  shoit 
summer.  He  who  hath  children  ought  to  be- 
think him  how  to  make  them  a  warm  nest,  that 
they  may  escape  from  foul  weather  to  the  sun- 
ny waters." 

"  The  birds  of  heaven  neither  sow  nor  reap,  but 
they  die  not  of  hunger!"  exclaimed  the  boyarin. 
"  Over  all  of  them  equally  doth  the  Lord  watch ; 
all  of  them  equally  doth  he  guard  from  bad 
weather;  Ive  showeth  them  all  the  path  to  an 
abundant  land ;  but  we,  for  ouror  our  forefather's 
sins,  have  not  all  received  an  equal  share — to 
one  man  is  given  a  talent,  to  another  two,  to 
some  nothing  at  all.  We  toil  and  take  thought 
for  our  children;  but"  ....  (here  he  sighed 
deeply.) 

"One  of  them  flieth  like  a  falcon  from  the 
Great  Prince's  fist,"  interrupted  Aphonia;  "and 
ever,  as  he  circleth  round,  mounteth  higher  and 
higher:  for  the  other  binl  this  fate  was  not  des- 
tined. The  swallow  singeth  by  herself,  but  soon 
she  will  cut  the  air  with  her  wings,  though  now 
.she  dares  not  fly  far  from  her  parents'  nest.  Put 
she  cannot  always  be  warmed  in  the  cradle;  the 
time  will  soon  come  when  she  must  herself  build 
her  little  nest,  and  bring  up  nurselings  of  her 
own." 

"  Apain,  I  answer,  our  lot  and  our  gifts  are  in 
the  hand  of  God:  without  him  a  hair  falleth  not 
from  our  heads." 

"  Be  not  angry,  my  Lord  Vassilii  Feodoro- 
vitch, that  I,  a  humblv-born  houseless  traveller, 


THE    HERETIC. 


KT 


speak  to  thee  the  truth,  not  as  a  reproach,  not  as 
leasoning  with  thee,  but  merely  to  arouse  thy 
recollection.  Our  minds  are  fixed  upon  the 
treasures  of  the  earth,  or  for  ourselves,  or  for  our 
children;  but  for  the  treasures  of  heaven,  which 
aifc  neither  corrupted,  nor  can  the  worm  devour 
them,  we  take  no  thought.  And  when  the  hour 
of  Christ  Cometh,  our  damask  kaftans,  our  silver 
cups,  our  iron  coffers — these  we  shall  not  carry 
■with  us;  we  shall  appear  before  him  naked[, 
■with  nothing  but  our  sins  or  our  good  deeds." 

*God  knoweth,  according  to  my  power  and 
reason,  I  labour  to  save  the  souls  of  myself  and 
my  children." 

"Thou  labourestl  what,  by  seeking  rich  and 
noble  bridegrooms  for  my  lady  Anastasia  Vassi- 
lievnal"  .... 

The  boyarin  was  not  offended  at  this  reproach, 
and  answered  kindly — 

,  "  Thou  art  right;  1  sought  such,  according  to 
the  weakness  of  my  blood,  and  of  humanity. 
And  therefore,  perhaps,  the  Lord  hath  punished 
me  by  the  proposal  of  Mamon.  From  that  time 
my  tree  putteth  forth  no  more  sweet  apples ; 
from  that  time  Nastenka's  suitors  have  vanish- 
ed ;  and  she  herself,  all  mournful,  hath  pined 
away  like  a  blade  of  grass  on  a  naked  rock. 
And  have  I  not  said  prayers  in  the  holy  places; 
have  I  not  set  up  tapers  in  the  church:  have  I 
not  lighted  a  lamp  to  burn  for  ever  V 

"Thou  hast  heard  the  word  of  God— ' Faith 
without  works  is  dead.'  " 

"  I  have  heard  it,  and  I  have  done  according 
to  God's  word.  I  have  clothed  the  naked;  I 
have  helped  those  whose  dwellings  have  been 
burned  down;  I  have  given  meat  in  years  of 
famine;  I  have  redeemed  prisoners  from  the 
infidels.  And  I  have  so  done  this,  that  my  left 
hand  hath  not  known  what  my  right  hand  gave." 
"Assuredly  all  this  is  pleasing  to  God.  But 
this  thou  gavest  of  thy  superfluity,  of  what  thou 
hadst  too  much.  Thou  hast  not  shared  thy  last 
morsel ;  thou  hast  not  given  thy  last  mite.  This 
is  a  far  different  thing  than  if  thou,  to  save  the 
soul  of  thy  unfriend,  hadst  given  something 
dearer  to  thee,  more  precious  than  all  on  earth, 
a  piece  of  thy  flesh  and  blood." 

Saying  this,  the  old  man  drew  himself  up  and 
gazed  piercingly  with  his  glittering,  solitary  eye, 
upon  his  listener,  like  an  archer,  desiring  to  see 
"whether  he  has  hit  the  mark.  If  he  had  been 
compelled  to  repeat  his  words,  he  would  have 
been  unable  to  do  so,  it  seemed  as  though  some 
one  else  had  spoken  within  him. 

At  the  word  "unfriend,"  the  boyarin  turned 
pale  and  trembled.  "  Thou  dost  not  speak  of 
Mamon  1"  he  cried  in  the  condemned  voice  of 
a  man  begging  for  mercy. 

"  What  then  1  if  I  had  spoken  of  him.  He  is 
thy  foe !" 

"Aphanasii  Nikititch,  my  friend,  thou  de- 
sirest  the  dishonour  of  my  hoary  head,  the  dis- 
honour of  my  son,  my  daughter — of  all  my  race. 
Thou  desirest  that  1  die  in  sorrow;  that  from 
the  other  world  I  hear  my  children  reproach 
me,  perhaps  curse  me  for  their  shame;  that  I 
hear  the  people  and  my  foes  laughing  over  my 
grave,  and  insulting  it.  '  This,'  they  will  say, 
'  this  was  the  tender  f  ither !  this  was  the  way 
he  loveci  his  children  !  .  .  .  .  This  was  the  way 
he  se'.tled  his  beloved  and  only  daughter;  he 
wedded  her  to  the  grandson  of  a  witch  who  was 
burned  in  Mojaisk  in  the  market-place!'  The 
grandson  of  a  sorceress,  the  son  of  my  deadly  foe, 
with  whom  ray  son  must  fight  in  tlie  lists',  will 


receive  my  daughter No,  Aphanasii  Ni- 
kititch, ask,  demand  from  me  something  else, 
God  knows,  that  for  a  deed  of  charity  I  will  not 
spare  my  blood." 

This  was  the  very  point  to  which  Aphanasii. 
Nikititch  wished  to  lead  him ;  he  almost  triumph- 
ed in  his  victory. 

"  Calm    thyself,  boyarin,  it  is  not  of  Mamon. 
I  would  speak.     Shall  his  lost  soul  be  saved  by 
thy  beloved   daughter — that   pure   dove?      She. 
would  only  ruin  her  own.     It  is  not  herself  that 
he  seeketh   lor   his   son,  but  thy    wealth.     My 
bridegroom  is  far  different,  he  seeketh  only  heav- 
enly wealth  :  it  is  with  this  dowery  alone  that  he 
would  receive  our  darling,  Anastasia  Vassil^ 
ievna." 
"  I  cannot  even  guess  of  whom  thou  speakest." 
Aphonia  crossed  himself  and  said — "I  have 
conie  to  thee  as  a  svat,  my  Lord"Vassilii  Feodo- 
rovitch,  but  not  a  common,  everyday  one  :  I  de- 
sire that  at  the  great  day  of  judgment  thy  soul 
may  appear  before  Christ  like  a  pure  and  spot- 
less virgin.      Now,   thou   see'st   there  are  two 
bridegrooms  to  choose  from  for  Anastasia  Vas- 
silievna.     Our  lord  Ivan  Vassilievitch  favour- 
elh  each  of  them  ;  1  stand  up  strongly  for  one — 
both  are  heretics.     One  is  a  Tartar  and  Tsare- 
vilch." 
"  Karakatcha,  son  of  Danyar  Kassimoff." 
•'  Exactly  so." 

"  I  have  already  received  hints  about  him.     I 
am  not  against  him,  if  he  will  take  our  taith." 
"  Certainly !  he  is  a  Tsarevitch  ! .  . . .  Forsooth, 

a  noble  deed  of  charity the  honour  goeth 

for  nothing!"  .... 

This  sarcasm  deeply  penetrated  the  religious 
soul  of  Obrazetz  :  he  was  embarrassed  as  if  he- 
had  betrayed  himself  before  his  judge;  but  to 
justify  himself,  he  answered  with  firmness — 
"Then  I  will  not  give  her  to  the  Tsarevitch  ; 
God  knoweth,  I  will  not  ...  .  Who  is  the  other'? 
....  Do  not  torture  me,  in  God's  name  !" 

"Boyarin,  remember  I  perform  the  part  of  no 
common  svat;  we  are  preparing  a  crown  of  im- 
mortaliiy  for  thee  and  another  servant  of  God." 
"  Speak,  my  friend,  speak  !" 
"  The  other  is— Antony  the  leech." 
"  The  German  I"  .  .  .  .  cried  Obrazetz,  tnun- 
derstruck. 

This  word  represented  the  whole  race  of  Lat- 
iners— accursed,  hated— the  death  of  his  beloved 
son,  the  whole  life  of  the  boyarin,  with  all  its 
prejudices  and  beliefs. 

"  Surely ;  I  did  not  hide  from  thee  that  the 
suitor  was  a  heretic." 

"  A  necromancer — a  servant  of  the  Evil  One!" 
cried  the  boyarin. 

"  Slander,  Vassilii  Feodorovitch  I  Slander  is 
a  great  sin.  Who  can  say,  pledging  his  soul, 
that  he  hath  ever  heard  him  use  a  wicked  word, 
or  seen  him  in  the  works  of  Satan  I  1  have 
often  visitedhim,  have  frequently  conversed  with 
him  :  all  his  talk  was  of  God's  wonderful  crea- 
tion ;  it  was  full  of  reason,  a  noble  and  bright  el- 
oquence, like  a  resounding  torrent.  Modest  as 
a  maiden,  brave  as  thy  son,  merciful  to  the  poor. 
Never  can  I  forget  his  goodness.  One  thi'ng 
alone  holdeth  him  in  the  claws  of  the  Fiend,  one 
thing  alone  plungeth  him  in  the  bur.iing  pitch- 
he  is  unchristened.  But  if  he  will  take  our  faith, 
he  will  be  purified  from  all  stain— sooner  than 
ourselves  will  he  reach  the  dwelling  of  God: 
Remember,  boyarin,  thou  hast  pledged  thy  sa- 
cred word." 

Obrazetz,  instead  of  answering,  burst  into  tears, 
for  the  first  time  since  the  death  of  his  wife. 


128 


THE   HERETIC. 


"What  dost  thou  ask  from  me  1"  he  exclaimed 
at  last,  sobbing. 

"  Thy  blood,  the  dearest  morsel  of  thy  flesh, 
that  ihoir  mayest  save  the  soul  of  God's  servant, 
Antony,  from  eternal  fire  :  have  mercy  on  thine 
own  Soul." 

"  Give  me  three  days'  time — but  till  my  son's 
return." 

"  Will  Jesus  Christ  give  thee  this  time  to 
cleanse  thyself  from  thy  sins,  when  thou  appear- 
esi  before  him  in  the  other  world!"  (These 
words  belonged  not  to  Aphanasii  Nikitin,  but  to 
Josiph  of  Volok.)  "  Perhaps  to-morrow  may  be 
too  late.  Refuse  Antony,  and  who  can  be  sure 
that  he  will  not  instantly  depart  to  his  own  infi- 
del land?  And  then  lie' will  remain  for  ever  in 
the  chains  of  hell.  And  when  he  appeareth 
the  other  world,  bound  hand  and  foot,  when 
they  take  him  to  hurl  him  into  the  burning  pitch 
— '  O  Lord  !'  he  will  say,  '  I  desired  to  come  to 
thee,  but  thy  servant  Vassilii  did  not  let  me. 
It  is  he  who  bound  me  hand  and  foot;  it  is  he 
■who  hurled  me  into  everlasting  fire;  bind  him, 
therefore,  with  me,  and  hurl  him  into  the  fi-i-e 
•with  me. '  Will  thine  alms  save  thee  then,  think- 
€st  ihou,  or  thy  masses  1  Think  again,  Vas- 
silii Feodorovitch  ;  repeat  thy  sacred  word  ;  the 
angels  will  rejoice  when  they  rece  ve  into  their 
choirs  a  new  Christian  soul,  and  will  sing — 
'  Glory,  slory  to  thee,  O  Lord,  on  earth  and  in 
the  heavens  !' " 

Obrazetz  sighed  deeply,  as  if  he  would  breathe 
forth  all  his  being;  and  glanced  at  the  image  of 
the  Saviour  with  the  love  and  agony  of  a  man 
■crucified  with  him;  and  suddenly  starting  from 
his  sick-bed,  strong  and  steady,  he  exclaimed 
with  solemnity — "  Let  us  pray  to  the  Lord !" 

After  him  arose  the  Tveritchanin.  And  they 
prayed. 

"O  Lord,  merciful  Father!"  .said  Obrazetz 
kneeling,  "accept  from  thine  unworthy  servant 
a  great  and  painful  sacrifice.  I  have  but  one 
daughter,  my  well-beloved — mv  treasure — and 
her  I  give  to  thee.  Lord,  Lord !  remember  me 
and  my  daughter  when  thou  comest  into  thy 
kingdom." 

And  the  boyarin  embraced  the  traveller.  Hav- 
ing finished  the  spiritual  work,  they  returned  to 
what  belonged  to  earth.  They  struck  hands,  and 
determined  to  prepare  Anastasia;  to  inform  An- 
tony, through  Aphonia,  of  Obrazetz's  consent ; 
and  to  tell  him  that  he,  in  order  to  save  the 
maiden's  modesty  and  honour  from  any  stain  of 
popular  report,  must  depart  on  the  next  day  to 
another  house,  and  immediately  take  the  boy- 
arin's  confes.sor,  who  would  instruct  !iim  in  true 
Christianity.  The  marriage  was  fixed  not  to 
take  place  before  the  judgment  of  God  should  de- 
cide Khabar's  fate  in  the  lists.  Whether  Anto- 
ny had  ever  seen  the  boyarin's  daughter  was  not 
asked;  perhaps  Obrazetz  feared  to  learn  what 
would  have  been  displeasing  to  him  to  know. 

The  moment  the  svat  had  gone,  Anastasia  was 
summoned  to  her  father. 

"What  could  it  be  fori  ....  Surely  some- 
thing imporinnt !"  thought  she,  and  her  henrt  flut- 
tered in  her  bosom  ;  her  feet  irembled  under  her. 

When  she  entered  her  father's  bed-chamber, 
his  grave  yet  afleetionate  face — his  glance,  pen- 
otraiing  her  soul — the  image,  adorned  with  the 
lightefl  tapers  as  before  a  festival — all  proved 
that  she  must  prepare  herself  for  something  ex- 
trnordinary. 

The  old  man  spoke  in  a  touching  voice  of  his 
sickness,   of  his  presentiment  of  approaching 


death.  A  raven,  too,  bad  perched  upon  the 
house-top  and  would  not  be  driven  away,  and 
the  dog  had  dug  a  hole  before  the  window  of  his 
chamber,  and  Anastasia's  mother  had  appeared 
to  him  in  a  dream,  and  called  him  to  herself 

"Father,  ah,  do  not  die!  do  not  depart  from 
us!"  ...  .  sobbed  forth  Anastasia,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  I  would  not  leave  thee,  my  child,  my  pome- 
granate !  but  God  calls  me,  and  we  may  not  stay. 
It  is  time  to  think  of  settling  thee  ....  thou  art 
of  a  fit  age  to  wed  ....  wicked  men  will  say — 
'  She  is  old  !'" 

Among  the  lessons  given  by  the  nurse  to  her 
charge,  how  she  was  to  hear  herself,  and  speak, 
was  one — with  what  voice  she  was  to  answer 
her  father  when  he  spoke  to  her  of  a  husband. 
The  motto  which  we  have  taken  for  the  present 
chapter  had  been  learned  by  Anastasia,  and  oft- 
en repeated,  with  the  necessary  thoughtful  study, 
against  a  similar  occasion ;  but  this  was  no  time 
for  it.  She  stood  at  the  head  of  her  father's  bed, 
paralysed  with  grief  She  could  not  utter  a  word, 
and  wiped  away  with  the  fine  sleeve  of  her  dress 
the  tears  that  streamed  forth  in  torrents. 

Her  father  continued — "According  to  the  law 
of  God,  I  have  chosen  thee  a  husband"  .... 

"I  am  God's  and  thine,"  sobbed  Anastasia, 
falling  at  her  father's  feet.  "Stay  awhile  .  .  . 
give  me  not  away,  my  father!  .  .  .  Art  thou  then 
angry  with  me  for  any  thing  1  Oram  I  no  long- 
er dear  to  theel  Or  art  thou  weary  of  my  vir- 
gin beauty  1  Make  me  not  pine  away  before  my 
time;  kill  me  not!"  ... 

"  Thou  canst  not  call  back  past  days,  nor  take 
again  a  word  once  given.  And  I  have  pledged 
a  solemn  promise — I  have  made  a  vow  unto  the 
Lord.  Nastia,  redeem  thy  father's  sins,  recall 
not  my  plighted  word." 

Instead  of  answering,  Anastasia  sobbed,  and 
embraced  her  father's  knees. 

"Even  to  a  heretic  ...  to  a  Tsarevitchl  .  .  . 
We  will  bring  him  into  the  Christian  faith;  he 
will  walk  under  the  Great  Prince's  protection," 
said  the  father,  desiring  to  prepare  her  for  a  her- 
etic husband. 

"  To  whom  thou  wilt  ...  I  am  God's  asd 
thine  .  .  .  Only  give  me  not  to  a  Tartar!  .  .  . 
When  thou  ai^t  in  the  grave,  I  wiH  follow  thee 
.  .  .  I  will  lay  hands  on  myself!" 

"  Ah  !  my  poor  child,  my  poor  dove,  what  will 
become  of  theel  .  .  .  Forgive  me.  my  child,  my 
beloved  daughter;  I  have  promised  yet  worse 
than  to  a  Tartar ;  I  have  promised  thee  to  a  her- 
etic Gierman — to  Antony  the  leech." 

"  To  Antony  V  .  .  .  Anastasia  tried  to  say,  but 
the  word  was  stifled  in  her  breast. 

AVhal  had  she  heard!  .  .  .  The  dear  friend  of 
her  heart,  her  joy,  the  delight  ofhcr  eyes,  Anto- 
ny—her  husbanil!  Did  her  ears  deceive  herl 
Had  she  not  spoke  that  loved  name  herself  in 
forceifulness'?  .  .  .  She  struggled  to  conceal  her 
('elight,  but  she  could  not — it  was  seen  in  her 
convulsive  trembling,  in  every  gesture,  even  in 
her  tears. 

"  It  is  thy  will,  my  father !"  she  said  at  length, 
passionately  kissing  his  feet. 

And  she  could  say  no  more.  But  her  father's 
piercing  glance  remarked,  in  his  daughter's  eager 
caresses,  a  feeling  which  he  had  never  suspected 
could  exist.  The  boyarin  thanked  the  Lord  that 
this  feeling  would  be  covered  by  the  marriage 
crown,  and  would  redeem  the  soul  of  a  heretic 
from  the  bondage  of  hell.  Thus  were  over- 
thrown the  obstacles  in  the  palace  of  Obiazetz. 


THE   HERETIC. 


129 


On  the  same  day  the  boyarin  sent  in  his  son's 
-name  to  Mamon,  to  enquire  if  he  was  recovered, 
and  ready  for  the  judgment  of  God,  (this  mes- 
sage had  already  been  sent  more  than  once.) 
Mamon  replied,  "  I  am  ready,  and  waiting."  On 
T-eceiving  his  answer,  an  express  was  di-spatched 
to  Tver. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    WOOD. 
"  When  the  white  moon  alone  is  standing 
Alone  and  steadfast  in  the  sky, 
To  greenwood  then  from  caves  \re  hie, 
Unto  our  trade  of  |>eril  bandiug — 
Behind  a  tree  we  sit  and  watch"  .  .  . 

POUSHKIN. 

Antony  was  happy ;  he  had  saved  the  honour 
^f  his  mistress — he  was  to  possess  her.  He 
■could  hardly  believe  his  bliss.  In  fulfilment  of 
Obrazetz's  desire,  and  stilLmore,  of  that  of  his 
>own  heart,  he  determined  on  changing  his  abode 
<on  the  morrow,  and  on  going  to  Aristotle's 
house,  and  thence  to  another  dwelling,  as  soon 
-as  he  could  find  one.  But  that  night  he  was  to 
pass  beneath  the  same  roof  with  Anastasia.  It 
was  already  twilight,  when,  bidding  farewell  to 
Jhis  benefactor  and  svat,  he  left  his  house.  He 
had  far  to  go.  Kourilzin  had  not  sent  his  horse, 
as  he  had  promised.  He  proceeded  rapidly.  In 
sight  of  the  Zaneglinnoi,  at  the  declivity  of  the 
hill,  stretching  to  a  mossy  swamp,  a  considera- 
ble wood  lay  in  his  path.  It  grew  darker  and 
•darker.  The  moon  was  just  peering  above  the 
earth,  and  threw  a  lazy  light,  at  one  time  gazing 

•  sleepily  in  the  traveller's  face,  at  another  glim- 
:niering  through   the  leaves  of  the  trees,  like  a 

bright  circle  of  diamond,  or  stooping  behind  a 
tree  shattered  by  the  lightning.  At  last  even 
the  moon,  as  if  wearied  with  her  journey,  was 
ab<:ut  to  sink  into  the  bosom  of  the  earth.  The 
Kreml  alone,  sprinkled  with  her  last  radiance, 

■cut  sharply  against  the  sky  the  roofs  of  its  hous- 

•es  and  the  crosses  of  its  churches;  all  around 
stretched  itself  in  shadow  at  its  feet,  like  slaves 
at  the  foot  of  their  padishah. 

As  he  approached  the  wood,  Antony  was  en- 
veloped in  the  chilly  exhalations  of  the  swamp; 

ithe  sky  itself,  sprinkled  here  and  there  with  tutis 
and  streaks  of  cloud,  stood  over  him  like  a  dome 

■  of  marble.  Wreaths  of  fog  floated  through  the 
thickets,  and  the  trees  seemed  lo  wave,  putting 
on  strange  fantastic  forms,  and  whispering 
among  themselves.  The  birch  waved  its  curling 
head,  or  streamed  upon  the  breeze  its  long  float- 
ing pennons:  the  black  firs  stretched  out  their 
hooked  arms,  atone  lime  threatening  from  above, 
at  another  blocking  up  the  passage;  the  aspen 
•whispered,  and  around  the  traveller  began  to  flit 
those  strange  phantoms  which  imagination  calls 
up  before  us  on  such  occasions.     Like  witches 

•  on  their  festival,  swarms  of  bats  flitted  about, 
weaving  their  airy  dances  almost  under  the  trav- 
■eller's  nose.  To  accompany  them,  the  night- 
hawk,  and  the  wood-demon  the  screech-owl, 
burst  into  its  infernal  laugh.  A  traveller,  though 
no  coward,  might  have  felt  eerie.  But  Antony 
Mds  hastening  home   to  that  beloved  roof  be- 

.-Jieath  which  dwelt  his  bride.  He  was  warm,  he 
was  free  from  fear.  In  case  of  meeting  with 
unfriendly  people,  a  stiletto  at  his  side,  and  a 
Itisten  armed  with  a  sharp  iron  point,  which 
Aphonia  had  given  him — these  weapons,  in  the 
hands  of  a  powerful  and  courageous  young  man, 
snight  serve  as  a  defence  to  be  relied  on. 


It  is  true  he  felt  some  apprehension  on  ac- 
count of  a  horseman  who  had  IbUowed  him  near- 
ly all  the  way  from  Tchertolino,  keeping  paral- 
lel with  his  road,  and  continued  to  follow  him 
at  a  few  fathoms'  distance. 

He  stopped,  and  the  horseman  stopped  too; 
he  moved  on,  and  the  same  thing  was  done  by 
the  inevitable  traveller.  He  called  out — no  an- 
swer was  returned.  He  remembered  Kourit- 
zin's  words,  and  considering  himself,  armed  as 
he  was,  a  match  for  three,  he  made  ready  to  de- 
fend himself.  At  last  he  was  weary  of  appre- 
hensions which  were  not  fulfilled.  "Assured- 
ly the  traveller  is  afraid  of  me,  and  I  am  alarm- 
ed at  him,"  thought  Antony,  as  he  proceeded 
onward  without  looking  behind  him,  and  listen- 
ing to  the  clatter  of  the  horse's  hoofs  as  it  fol- 
lowed him,  as  you  listen  to  the  buzzing  of  a  fly, 
which  circles  round  you  unceasingly,  but  with- 
out stinging  you.  The  sweet  moments  which 
awaited  him  in  his  future  union  with  Anasta- 
sia, penetrated  into  his  heart  and  imagination. 
She  alone,  and  her  perfections,  occupied  his 
mind.  He  was  altogether  buried  in  this  reverie, 
when  out  of  a  wreath  of  fog  some  one  cautious- 
ly called  him  by  his  name. 

"  'Tis  I,"  he  answered,  and  stopped. 

Immediately  after  this  reply,  some  one  darted 
out  of  the  hushes  and  rushed  straight  at  him. 
"  Prague — the  dogs— my  saviour !"  said  the  un- 
known, in  German,  seizing  Antony  with  unu- 
sual force  by  the  sleeve,  dragging  him  into  the 
bushes  and  throwing  him  down.  The  falcon 
pounces  not  more  rapidly  from  its  soaring  upon 
its  prey. 

"  For  God's  sake !"  he  added,  in  a  whisper, 
"  stir  not,  and  be  silent." 

The  secret  watchword,  which  M-as  known 
only  to  Antony,  was  sutficient  to  induce  him  to 
confide  in  the  strange  unknown.  This  watch- 
word reminded  him  of  the  circumstance  at 
Prague,  when  he  saved  the  Jew  Zakharia  from 
the  infuriated  animals  that  were  about  to  tear 
him  to  pieces.  The  well-known  pronunciation, 
betrayed  the  driver  who  had  brought  Antony  t^ 
Russia.  Though  comprehending  nothing,  he 
submitted  to  the  will  of  his  companion,  did  not 
move,  and  remained  silent. 

A  minute  passed  ....  two  ....  three  .... 
the  horseman  rode  by  them  in  pursuit  of  the 
young  man.  Antony  felt  his  companion  vio- 
lently squeeze  his  arm.  After  a  short  delay  a 
wliistle  was  heard  ....  it  was  answered  by  a 
whistle  in  (he  ravine. 

'■  JN'ow,  quick,  follow  me,"  whispered  Zakha- 
ria, or  Skharia,  as  they  called  him  in  Russia; 
"  a  i'ew  fathoms  off  there  waitelh  thee  an  am- 
buscade of  robbers ;  thy  life  hath  been  bought 
by  Poppel." 

Resistance  would  have  been  madness;  the 
3'oung  man  hastened  after  Skharia.  They 
dashed  into  the  thickness  of  the  wood,  further 
and  further,  till  they  were  lost  in  its  recesses. 
The  guide,  however,  stopped  from  time  to  time 
in  order  to  allow  the  noise  to  cease,  caused  by 
their  hands  and  feet,  as  they  forced  their  way 
among  the  shrubs  and  underwood.  He  desired 
that  this  rustling  should  be  taken  for  the  sound 
of  the  breeze  rushing  through  the  wood. 

"  Be  sure  to  keep  in  view  that  little  star,"  said 
Znkharia,  pointing  to  one  which  was  feebly 
twinkling  in  the  east — "  pray  to  God  that  it  do 
not  hide  itself." 

And  onward,  onward  they  rushed  by  its  con- 
soling gleam.    At  last  they  burst,  fatigued,  out 


130 


THE   HERETIC. 


of  the  wood.  Before  them  laj'  the  swamp.  It 
seemed  to  them  a  pit  in  which  coals  were  burn- 
ing, so  thickly  arose  the  smoke  of  the  fog.  At 
this  moment  the  breeze  bore  onward  to  their  ear 
cries  of  "  Escaped !  .  .  .  .  lost !  .  .  .  .  scatter, 
.spread  yourselves  !  .  .  .  .  seize  the  accursed  !" 
And  the  sound  of  horses  seemed  to  spread  in 
diflerent  directions,  along  the  road  to  Tcherto- 
lino  and  along  the  edge  of  the  wood.  The 
Jew's  heart  seemed  about  to  burst  out  of  his 
breast:  even  Antony  felt  alarmed.  'Twas  sad 
to  leave  his  life  at  its  happiest  moment — horri- 
ble to  die  beneath  the  bludgeon  or  the  knife  of  a 
robber. 

"  Here,  somewhere  hereabout,  is  a  causeway 
made  in  the  marsh  with  fagots,"  said  Zakharia, 
in  an  agony  of  terror:  "let  us  separate,  thou  to 
the  left,  I  to  the  right  ....  let  us  look  for  it  ...  . 
If  you  find  it,  cough;  I  will  do  the  same  .  .  .  . 
The  causeway,  or  we  are  lost!" 

They  separated  for  the  search.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments Antony  gave  the  signal  agreed  on.  The 
Jew  rushed  up  to  him.  The  very  snot,  where 
under  the  dark  streak  of  the  mist  a  bluish  vault 
seemed  to  be  formed,  indicated  the  causeway. 
The  fugitives  are  upon  it;  in  this  direction, 
along  the  edge  of  the  wood,  riders  were  gallop- 
ing ....  closer  and  closer  came  the  sound  of 
their  horses  ....  the  panting  of  the  wearied 
animals  is  heard  .... 

"Hush!  give  me  thy  hand,  or  I  shall  fall," 
said  the  Jew,  in  a  breathless  voice,  seizing  An- 
tony by  the  arm.  "Close  by  there  is  a  bridge 
over  the  stream  ....  and  there"  .... 

He  could  not  finish  his  sentence;  he  was  al- 
most fainting.  The  Hebrew  had  already  lost 
presence  of  mind,  and  he  was  besides  weak  phys- 
ically. He  was  in  reality  ready  to  fnil.  He 
had  sufficient  courage  to  undertake  an  exploit, 
but,  feeble  by  constitution,  he  was  unable  to 
finish  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the  cool  courage 
of  the  young  man  was  only  developed  in  all  its 
strength  at  the  moment  of  greatest  peril.  He 
seized  Zakharia,  dragged  him  across  the  little 
bridge,  and  placed  him,  almost  breathless,  on 
the  dry  bank.  Then  he  returned — away  went  a 
plank  into  the  stream  which  flowed  through  the 
swamp — another,  a  third— and  the  communica- 
tion was  destroyed.  The  fugitives  were  con- 
cealed by  the  <bg.  They  were  saved ;  before 
them  arose  the  suburb,  the  roofs  of  its  houses 
peering  through  the  mist.  Thev  heard  the 
lauseway  cracking  under  the  feet  of  horses— all 
Was  suddenly  still.  Then  arose  cries  and  groans; 
entreaties  for  help,  warnings  and  curses.  Prob- 
ably a  horse  had  fallen  into  the  broken  bridge 
and  carried  the  rider  with  it. 

"  Ha,  ha !  thou  hast  caught  it '"  cried  the  He- 
brew, returninij  to  his  senses  as  soon  as  he  found 
himself  out  of  danger.  "  He  that  di^geth  a  pit 
for  another,  shall  fall  therein  himself  But  let 
us  haste.     In  the  suburb  thou  wilt  find  thy"  .... 

Zakharia  did  not  finish— something  whistled 
past  his  ear.  This  was  an  arrow,  let  fly  by  one 
of  their  pursuers,  aimed  at  the  place  where 
voices  were  heard.  Frightened  out  of  his  wits, 
he  stooped  towards  the  ground,  dragged  his  com- 
panion by  the  kaftan,  and  began  to  crawl  through 
the  fog,  almost  on  all  fours,  towards  the  suburb. 
Antony  could  do  nothing  better  than  follow  him 
without  stopping. 

"Well,"  said  Zakharia,  as  soon  as  he  found 
himself  in  a  place  of  safely — that  is,  in  a  cottage 
evidently  known  to  him,  as  he  gaive  a  .signal 
knock — "well,  I  have  made  a  warm  ablution, 


according  to  the  law  of  my  fathers.  It  has  no^ 
rained,  and  yet  I  have  not  a  dry  rag  about  me," 

The  wicket  was  opened,  and  immediately- 
locked  behind  them. 

"Now  I  may  sing  thanksgiving  and  praise  to 
the  God  of  Abraham  and  Jacob,"  said  the  He- 
brew, conducting  his  companion  into  a  cleau 
large  chamber;  "  thou  art  saved." 

"  How  can  I  ever  thank  thee,  good  Zakharia !" 
answered  Antony,  pressing  the  Jew's  hand  with 
feeling.  This  expression  of  gratitude  took  place 
at  night;  no  treasures  would  have  bribed  the 
young  man  to  have  touched  a  Jew  by  daylight, 
before  witnesses,  in  spite  of  all  that  he  had  done 
for  him,  and  all  that  he  was  ready  at  any  time 
to  do  for  him. 

"  How  1  ....  I  am  still  thy  debtor.  Thou 
savedst  my  life  without  any  views  of  interest, 
without  knowing  me,  from  mere  humanity.  Yet 
more,  thou  savedst  a  Jew  ! — A  Jew !  what  is  be 
in  the  eyes  of  a  Christian  1  ....  I  am  thy  debtor, 
and  I  am  only  paying  what  I  have  received  from, 
thee.  To-morrow  I  shall  have  left  Moscow. 
God  knoweth  if  ever  I  shall  see  thee  again,  or 
speak  to  thee!  ....  Now  I  can  at  leisure  give 
an  account  of  tliat  sum  of  good  which  I  have 
received  from  thee,  I  may  disclose  to  thee  .  .  .  ,. 
Confident  in  the  honour  of  thy  soul,  1  know  that 
not  a  word  of  mine  will  go  further." 

"O,  assuredly,  thou  mayest  confide  in  me!" 

"I  told  thee,  as  we  were  travelling  to  Russia, 
that  I  would  never  forget  thy  benevolence;  that 
I  possessed  powerful  friends,  who  could  do  thee 
more  good  than  Aristotle  himself  Thou  often 
laughedst  at  me,  thou  countedst  lue  a  braggart;, 
yet  1  lied  not.  The  miserable  Hebrew,  whom 
the  schoolboys  of  Prague  could  with  impunity 
bait  with  dogs — thy  driver — is  the  founder  of  a 
far-extended  sect  in  Russia.  Here  I  have  my 
little  empire;  my  word  is  law,"  (the  Hebrew 
drew  himself  proudly  up,  his  eyes  sparkled ;) 
"here  I  avenge  myself  for  my  humiliation  in 
Germany;  I  take  with  usury  here  all  that  my 
fellow-creatures,  men,  refuse  me  elsewhere.  la 
the  families  of  princes  and  boyarins,  in  the 
palace  of  the  primate,  even  in  the  family  of  the 
Great  Prince,  I  have  my  followers,  my  pupils, 
my  disciples.  Many  women,  throug"h  whom 
much  luay  be  done,  notwithstanding  their  seclu- 
sion, are  my  warmest  protectresses." 

The  3'ouhg  man  listened  to  the  Jew's  disclo-- 
sure  with  horror.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven, 
as  if  to  implore  it  to  interfere.  .... 

"Oh!"  thought  he,  "if  I  remain  in  Russia,  I 
will  seek  out  these  unfortunate  lost  sheep;  I  will 
struggle  by  the  force  of  religious  reasoning  to 
bring  theni  back  to  their  Heavenly  Shepherd. 
He  would  disregard  Zakharia." 

"Now,  through  these  powerful  persons,"  said 
the  Hebrew,  "I  have  intiuenced  even  the  Great 
Prince's  disposition  towards  thee.  Through  one 
of  them  the  Russian  ruler  has  been  long  ac- 
quainted with  thy  inclination  for  the  daughter 
of  Obrazptz." 

"  From  whom  didst  thou  learn  the  secret  of 
my  heart  V 

'"  Thy  servant,  the  half-christened,  is  my  dis- 
ciple. He  was  commissioned  to  follow  all  tiiy 
steps  and  movements,  that  in  case  of  need  he 
might  help  thee.  How  he  watched  thy  commu- 
nications with  the  boyarin's  daughter,  ask  him- 
.self  The  contempt  in  which  he  was  treated  in 
Obrazelz's  house,  ha<l  taught  him  cunning. 
Wherefore  is  our  race  so  cunning,  think  ye  1 
Thy  servant  knew  that  I  wished  thy  welfart- ., 


THE    HERETIC. 


131 


obeying  my  command,  devoted  to  thee,  he  ful- 
filled the  duty  of  a  spy  with  singular  skill  and 
zeal.  The  proof  is,  thou  hast  never  even  sus- 
pected him. 

"Never— never!" 

"  Forgive  us;  what  we  did  was  for  thy  good. 
We  enveloped  thee  in  a  net,  in  order  if  thou 
shouldst  fall  into  a  whirlpool,  we  might  the 
more  easilv  draw  thee  out.  I  knew  thai  Poppel 
was  thy  sworn  foe.  It  was  not  in  vain  that  thy 
mother  pointed  him  out  as  being  dangerous  to 
thee.  On  the  journey  the  foolish  knight  hinted, 
before  his  attendants,  at  his  secret  intentions 
against  thee.  He  spoke  of  the  commission  he 
had  from  the  Baron  Ehrenstein  to  get  rid  of  thee, 
whatever  it  might  cost:  a  leech  of  his  name 
would  cast  a  stain  upon  his  baronial  shield. 
Immediately  after  his  arrival  at  Moscow,  he  be- 
gan to  sharpen  against  thee  the  weapons  of 
calumny.  When  this  failed,  he  had  recourse  to 
the  weapons  of  the  assassin.  Through  the 
boyarin  Mamon  thy  life  was  bought.  In  the 
house  of  the  ambassador  I  had  devoted  persons, 
who  informed  me,  or  Kouritzin,  of  every  thing. 
The  ofhcers  sent  to  watch  Poppel  were  chosen 
from  among  my  disciples.  At  every  place,  at 
every  lime,  my  eyes  and  heart  were  watching 
over  thee.  And  at  all  times  and  places  I  took 
care  that  no  one  should  know,  should  see,  that  a 
Jew  was  interested  i-n  thee— never  was  I  seen  in 
conversation  with  thee.  Never  even  in  thy 
dwelling.  I  knew  that  my  intercourse  with 
thee  would  injure  thee,  particularly  in  Obra- 
zetz's  house  ;  I  preserved  thy  name  from  this 
blot,  even  as  I  would  preserve  my  daughter's 
honour.  Thou  canst  not  reproach  me  with  the 
contrary." 

The  Jew  spoke  with  singular  feeling ;  his  eyes 
were  filled  with  tears. 

"O,  assuredly  not  !"  cried  the  young  man, 
deeply  touched.  "I  never  suspected  that  thou 
wert  in  Moscow." 

"  All  this  went  on  well  till  to-day.  To-day, 
Kouritzin  let  me  know  that  thou  hadst  gone  to 
Aphanasii  Nikitin,  notwithstanding  his  entrea- 
ties to  put  off  thy  journey  till  to-morrow.  He 
waited  for  thy  return  at  a  convenient  place;  but 
thou  returnedst  not.  Immediately  after  this  one 
of  the  hired  band  informed  me  of  the  same  thing, 
with  the  addition,  that  if  thou  wert  to  delay  thy 
return,  thou  wouiolst  fall  into  an  ambuscade  at 
the  marsh,  between  Zanegliimaia  and  Tchertol- 
ino.  I  calculated  the  hour.  To  assemble  our 
devoted  adherents  to  protect  thee,  there  was  no 
time  :  to  send  thee  thy  horse  and  servant  would 
be  useless.  Neither  horse  nor  servant  would 
have  been  of  any  help  in  the  narrow  ravine, 
when  thou  wert  surrounded  by  a  dozen  robbers. 
Kouritzin  sent  people  to  have  thy  horse  and  ser- 
vant at  least  dispatched  hither,  to  the  house  of 
one  of  my  most  devoted  disciples.  I  must  in- 
form thee  that  I  have  no  fixed  dwelling  :  to-night 
I  sleep  at  the  house  of  one  of  ray  people,  to-morr 
row  at  that  of  another." 

"  Unenviable  is  thy  lot,  little  king  of  the  here- 
tics!" thought  Antony. 

"  1  at  last  determined  to  go  from  hence,  right 
along  the  causeway  of  the  marsh,  to  get  through 
the  wood  to  the  road  leading  to  Tchertolino,  and 
there  to  wait  for  thee  at  the  edsre  of  the  forest  It 
was  known  to  me  that  one  of  the  robbers  was  to 
follow  thee.  In  the  event  of  my  not  being  able 
to  get  thee  away  from  his  watch,  we  two  would 
have  slopped  him  and  fought  with  him.  God  be 
praised !    I  came  ia  time — thou  art  saved.    1 


gave  thanks  to  the  Almighty  that  he  had  vouch- 
safed me  this  day  the  power  of  rendering  thee  a 
service.  If  this  had  happened  to-morrow,  God 
knoweth  how  it  would  have  ended.  To-morrow 
— this  very  day — I  shall  depart  from  hence ;  cir- 
cumstances will  oblige  me  to  go  earlier  than  I 
thought.  I  shall  leave  Russia — for  ever.  But 
tell  me,  what  success  had  the  intercession  of 
Nikitin?  Dost  thou  need  the  resistless  will  of 
the  Great  Prince  V 

"  That  is  now  unnecessary.  My  fate  is  de- 
cided. Anastasia  is  given  to  me  by  her  father; 
I  shall  remain  in  Russia." 

"  I  am  well  pleased  that  my  Kouritzin  hath 
pointed  out  to  thee  a  faithful  svat,  and  that  in 
this,  if  not  I — yet  one  of  my  most  zealous  disci- 
ples', hath  helped  thee.  Though  I  depart,  I  leave 
thee  in  his  care  ....  at  least  for  such  a  time 
as  the  Baron  Ehrenstein  shall  remain  here.  One 
thing  I  entreat  thee,  not  to  disclose  to  the  deacoa 
what  thou  knowest  concerning  him  ....  what 
you  call  ....  desertion." 

The  young  man  promised  this.  He  was,  how- 
ever, not  much  pleased  to  continue  under  the 
guardianship  of  the  heretics,  and  he  made  a 
vow  in  his  own  mind  to  liberate  himself  as  soon 
as  possible  from  it.  "  I  shall  visit  Prague ;  I 
shall  see,  if  not  thy  mother,  at  least  her  servants 
....  What  dsot  thou  command  me  to  say  1" 

"  Tell  her,  good  Zakharia,  that  I  am  happy  .  . 
.  .  .  as  happy  as  man  can  be  on  earth.  Tell 
her  all  that  thou  knowest  concerning  me,  and 
my  love  for  Anastasia,  and  her  father's  consent, 
and  the  Russian  sovereign's  favour.  In  wealth, 
in  honour,  beloved  by  a  most  beautiful  and  vir- 
tuous maiden,  under  the  hand  and  eye  of  God — 
what  can  I  lack  more "?  Yes,  I  am  happy.  I 
should  say  completely  happy,  but  one  thing  is 
yet  wanting — the  presence  and  blessing  of  my 
mother!  Entreat  her,  to  complete  my  bliss,  to 
come  and  take  a  glance  at  me  in  Moscow." 

"  And  they  would  call  her  a  heretic,  and  she 
would  not  be  happy  here  in  a  Russian  family," 
thought  the  Hebrew,  but  did  not  say  so,  to  avoid 
grieving:  Antony. 

"Add,  that  thou  hast  seen  me  in  the  happiest 
moment  of  my  life,  when  I  was  going  for  the 
first  time  to  pass  a  night  beneath  the  same  roof 
with  my  bride.  These  moments  belong  to  me, 
this  day  is  mine — to-morrow  is  in  the  hand  of 
God." 

"  We  have  now  explained  to  each  other  all 
that  is  necessary  for  us  to  know,"  said  Zakharia. 
"  Permit  me — for  a  farewell — permit  the  Hebrew 
....  here  no  man  can  see  us  ....  I  will  put 
out  the  candle  ....  permit  me  to  embrace 
thee,  to  press  thee  to  my  heart  for  the  first  and 
last  time." 

The  young  man  did  not  allow  Zakharia  to 
put  out  the  candle  ;  he  embraced  him  in  the  light 
....  with  a  feeling  of  love  and  sincere  grati- 
tude. I 
They  bade  each  other  farewell.  When  An- 
tony left  the  court-yard,  his  servant,  the  half- 
baptized,  approached  him,  also  to  bid  him  fare- 
well. He  was  going  with  his  instructor  and 
protector  to  disL^int  lands.  The  young  man 
knew  how  to  appreciate  in  this  circumstance, 
also  the  delicate"  feelings  of  the  Hebrew.  It 
would  be  disagreeable  to  him  to  have  among 
his  servants  a  heretic,  a  deserter  from  the  name 
of  Christ!  As  he  returned  home,  he  deeply- 
considered  the  noble  sentiments  of  the  Jew  with 
I  peculiar  gratitude;  but  he  determined  to  make  a 
1  proper  ablution,  after  being  touched  by  the  hands 
which  had  crucified  our  Saviour. 


132 


THE   HERETIC. 


The  night  was  feebly  contending  with  dawn 
when  the  young  man  entered  his  own  gate.  He 
had  left  his  horse  at  Aristotle's  house,  whither 
he  had  ridden  to  tell  him  of  his  happiness. 
Heavens  !  what  feelings  rushed  along  his  blood, 
as  he  entered  the  court-yard  of  Obrazetz's  house ! 
when  he  knocked  at  his  door!  As  in  former 
times,  the  window  in  Anastasia's  tower  was 
open,  (the  nurse  had  permitted  this,  having 
heard,  nut  without  wonder,  of  her  foster-child's 
betrothal  to  Antony  the  leech,  whom  she  was 
henceforward  forbidden  to  call  heretic — she  de- 
sired by  this  to  gratify  her  future  master:)  as  in 
former  days,  Anastasia  is  silting  at  the  window, 
and  awaiting  the  return  of  her  enchanter.  She 
throws  him  a  flower:  the  flower  is  warm,  as 
though  from  her  bosom.  The  lovers  waited 
until  dawn.  As  before,  tliey  carried  on  a  speech- 
less dialogue  ;  long  they  discoursed  to  each  other 
in  passionate,  eloquent  glances  and  gestures. 
Morning  .separated  them.  Anastasia  was  about 
to  close  her  window,  and  opened  it  again.  An- 
tony was  about  to  retire  to  his  own  chamber, 
but  again  came  back  to  gaze.  Once  more  they 
said  farewell.  Her  eyes  were  dim  with  weep- 
ing ;  the  time  during  which  they  were  to  be  sep- 
arated, seemed  to  her  an  eternity. 

And  in  his  dreams  Antony  beheld  ....  Oh, 
what  floated  in  his  dreams  no  tongue  can  tell! 

'*'No!"  said  he  to  himself  as  he  awoke ;  "no, 
I  am  too  happy  !  .  .  .  Oh,  that  I  were  never  to 
awake!  ....  I  once  saw  a  bee,  intoxicated  in 
the  aromatic  cup  of  a  flower;  the  breeze  carried 
it  away  with  the  blossom,  and  wafted  them  to- 
gether to  a  burning  pile  that  had  been  lighted  by 
the  passenger.  Why  may  not  my  lot  be  like 
that  ■?  'Twas  a  frantic  thought,  worthy  an  idol- 
ater!" he  added,  looking  at  the  image  of  the 
Saviour:  "a  Christian's  death  should  not  be 
like  this— there  is  a  bliss  above  that  of  earth." 

Aristotle  and  his  son  found  him  still  in  bed. 
plunged  alternately  in  sweet  reveries,  and  reli- 
gious contemplations.  The  friend!)-  welcome 
of  the  one,  the  caresses  of  the  other,  completed 
his  happiness.  More  than  all  did  Andriousha 
rejoice  in  his  bliss:  he  had  done  so  much  in  it 
hiin.self;  his  godmother  and  friend  had  been  long 
betrothed  by  him. 

"  Now,  thou  rememberest,"  said  he  to  Antony, 
"  I  prophesied  that  thou  wouldst  stand  with  dear 
and  lovely  Nastia  under  the  crowns  in  the 
church." 


CHAPTF.R  XXXII. 

TIIK  Pt'NISHMENT  OP  THE  HERETIC."?. 
"■  And  vpon  thys  mateip,  my  Lnrdis,  ye  Crete  Prince 
willpd  nice  to  sprke  niio  poro  mymlp,  and  mce  thynVetli, 
my  Lnrilis,  yt  our  l^-iirdo  wil  purofve  hvs  sowle  ofsinne  ijif 
heo  to  dcde  ye  hcrettckeS."—Leiler  of  Jos^  Volok  to  the 
CUrgij  rj  Ivan  III. 

Ivan  was  not  overmuch  honoured  by  the  cler- 
gy and  tiie  people,  for  having,  in  order  to  deco- 
rate his  capital,  pulkd  down  ancient  churches, 
and  iran'.ferred  a  burial-giound  beyond  the  sub- 
uriis;  and  they  did  not  spare  to  call  him  a  sar-ri- 
legious  profaner  of  the  grave.  The  weapons  they 
employed  against  him,  were  quotations  from 
Holy  Writ  and  sarcasms.  "And  what  ychnl 
wee  sale  of  y  pulling  down  of  chirckes,  and 
sweeping  awaie  y  graves  of  y°  dead  7"  wrote 
Gennndius,  Archbishop  Novgorod  to  the  primate 
Zosimns;  "  and  yo  makiii;,'  in  the  stance  thereof 
gardens,  and  y«  performing  of  unclenenes!  Be- 
fore God  a  sin,  and  before  man  a  shame  !" 


These  shafts  were  launched  against  Ivan  Vas- 
silievitch,  but  did  not  wound  him;  he  laughed 
them  to  scorn,  and  persevered  in  acting  as  he 
thought  fit. 

The  representations,  both  frequent  and  press- 
ing, the  voice  of  the  people,  submissive  indeed, 
but  importunate,  on  the  subject  of  the  Jewish 
heresy,  at  length  awakened  his  attention.  He 
gave  orders  that  the  church  should  be  convoked, 
and  that  the  heresy  should  be  obliterated.  They 
desired  to  torture  the  accused — he  forbade  i^"; 
they  called  for  capital  punishment — he  did  not 
give  his  permission.  The  sovereign  "  kept  him- 
self clear  from  the  sin  of  punishing  them  with 
death."  In  accordance  with  his  will,  the  church 
publicly  cursed  the  heresy  :  to  one,  they  decreed 
exile,  another  was  to  be  exposed  to  the  insults  of 
the  people.  The  punishment  of  public  shame 
was  exemplary  in  the  reign  of  the  sovereign, 
and  in  the  fifteenth  century. 

We  have  seen  that  the  composition  of  the  list 
of  heretics  was  confided  to  their  protector — we 
also  remarked  of  whom  the  list  consisted.  The 
Great  Prince,  to  gratify  some  of  the  ecclesias- 
tics, added  from  himself  a  number  of  notorious 
seceders  from  the  faith,  who  were  pointed  out  to 
him.  Those  who  were  sentenced  to  banishment 
were,  without  delay,  sent  off  into  distant  cities, 
the  others  were  taken  under  a  guard :  they  were 
to  afford  a  day  of  amusement  for  the  people.  On 
this  occasion  it  would  have  been  in  no  way  safe 
for  Skharia  to  have  remained  in  Moscow.  Ivan 
Vassilievitchdid  not  so  much  as  suspect  that  he 
was  in  his  capital;  and  if  the  wrathful  glance  of 
the  Great  Prince  had  been  once  attracted  to- 
wards him,  he  would  have  met  with  the  fate  of 
Mamon's  mother.  Assuredly  they  would  not 
have  spared  the  Jew.  It  was  therefore  more 
sensible  in  him  to  escape  by  times  from  Mos- 
cow. And  this  he  had  done,  carrying  with  him 
rich  offerings  accumulated  from  credulity,  from 
folly,  and  tlie  love  of  every  thing  wonderful,  ev- 
ery thing  mysterious — that  disease  of  the  age. 
In  his  waggon  he  carried  treasures  wherewith 
in  future  time  he  might  redeem  himself  and  his 
family  from  the  persecutions  of  the  German  cit- 
izens and  princes. 

The  day  of  the  spectacle  was  not  delayed :  all 
were  busy.  The  scene  of  the  sports  was  arran- 
ged to  be" the  Red  Square,  and  the  neighbouring 
streets.  On  this  occasion,  the  people  were  not 
driven  to  the  concourse,  as  at  the  ambassador's 
procession :  it  came  of  its  own  accord  to  the 
spot.  Then  the  business  was  foreign  from  the 
people's  tastes,  excepting  that  of  gaping  curios- 
ity ;  they  were  conducting  some  German  or  oth- 
er to  their  sovereign,  but  why  and  wherefore  the 
Lord  only  knows  !  To-day  it  assembles  for  a 
festival  of  its  own,  for  a  business  of  its  own,  be- 
gun at  its  own  suit,  for  an  object  dear  to  its 
heart,  almost  in  harmony  with  its  desires,  and 
decided  by  its  sentence:  here  it  is  at  once  a 
spectator  of  the  execution  and  its  executioner. 
Free  lihcrtv  was  granted  to  it  to  insult  its  supe- 
riors, and  it  hastened  to  profit  by  this  spectacle, 
nnd  to  prepare  itself  sweet  recollections  against 
future  hours  of  oppression. 

The  markets  etnptied,  the  shops  were  shut, 
work  was  at  an  end.  The  inhabitants  of  Mos- 
cow and  the  neighhourhood,  old  and  younsr,  from 
early  dawn,  had  taken  possession  of  their  places 
in  the  square  and  in  the  principal  streets.  Peo- 
ple from  afar,  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  who 
had  come  to  Moscow  for  business,  no  sooner 
heard  of  the  sport,  than  they  forgot  weariness 


THE   HERETIC. 


133 


and  need,  turned  aside  from  their  road,  and  hast- 
ened to  post  themselves  on  the  centre  ot  common 
curiosity.  Hither,  too,  galloped  a  multitude  of 
the  Great  Prince's  courtiers;  and  among  their 
number  the  Tsarevitch  Karakaicha,  and  his 
comrade  Andrei  Aristotle.  The  square  was 
crammed  with  gazers.  Not  with  so  much  gree- 
diness fly  the  ravens  to  their  prey  of  carrion,  as 
there  streamed  hither  men  to  behold  the  humilia- 
tion of  their  fellow-men ;  not  so  thickly  wave  the 
poppies  in  the  ploughed  land,  where  the  hus- 
bandman has  scattered  an  abundant  seed,  as 
crowded  human  heads  in  that  square.  The 
trees  in  the  Great  Prince's  gardens,  which  had 
not  yet  been  completely  fenced  in,  were  broken 
down  by  the  shock  of  thousands,  receiving  the 
first  impulse  from  some  mover  in  the  I'ront 
ranks.  The  artisans,  who  bedewed  the  morsel  ot 
bread  with  painful  sweat,  forgot  that  they  were 
in  an  instant  annihilating  what  their  brethren 
had  laboured  on  for  years,  (the  mob  never 
thinks  of  this;)  the  servants  ot  the  Prince  for- 
got that  they  were  devastating  the  pleasure- 
grounds  of  him  who  was  not  only  their  lord,  but 
their  terrible  sovereign ;  Christians — that  they 
"were  trampling  beneath  their  feet  holy  things, 
the  churchyard,  and  the  ashes  of  their  forefa- 
thers, for  which  they  were  so  devoted.  The 
sticks  of  the  constables  were  busy  in  Ihe  attempt 
to  produce  order;  but  had  they  been  clubs,  they 
could  never  have  succeeded  there. 

At  last  rides  by  a  crier — his  arm  bare  to  the 
elbow,  supporting  an  axe.  Before  this  harbin- 
ger the  people  separated,  leaving  a  broad  street. 
"  Here,  good  Christian  people,  cometh  the  army 
of  Satan  !"  roared  the  herald  in  a  hoarse  voice. 
"  Thus  our  lord,  the  Great  Prince  of  All  Russia, 
punisheth  heretics,  such  as  depart  from  the  name 
of  Christ." 

And  immediately  after  him,  like  the  bursting 
of  a  cluster  of  rockets,  from  one  end  of  the 
square  to  the  other  arose  laughter,  hooting,  cries 
of  joy  and  of  insult;  this  uproar  spread  through 
the  whole  mass  of  the  people,  and  at  last  filled 
the  square. 

A  strange,  a  wonderful  procession !  Worth  a 
dozen  of  the  ambassador's !  From  afar  you 
cannot  distinguish  what  is  coming.  You  see 
horses,  people  leading  them,  riders,  but  all  this 
so  monstrous,  so  fantastical,  so  strangely  bediz- 
e?ied  with  rags  and  straw,  that  at  first  you  can- 
not make  out    the   objects Ah,  here   it 

comes !  .  .  .  .  what  can  it  be  1  It  is  a  proces- 
sion of  horsemen,  riding  in  pairs,  slow,  stately, 
and  rugular.  In  the  first  ranks  appear  misera- 
ble jades,  selected  apparently  from  that  market 
■where  the  steeds  are  valued  only  for  their  hides 
— admirable  subjects  for  the  anatomical  theatre. 
They  hardly  can  set  one  leg  before  the  other  : 
they  are  machines,  set  in  motion  and  kept  going 
only  by  the  strength  of  the  men  who  lead  them; 
and  if  stopped,  could  not  without  great  difficulty 
be  made  to  move  again.  In  the  middle  and  rear 
ranks  the  horses  are  somewhat  stronger  and 
handsomer — probably  with  some  object.  They 
are  all  caparisoned  with  straw  and  tinsel  trap- 
pings. They  were  led  by  dirty,  tattered,  but 
powerful  ragamuffins,  who  towed  them  along 
with  the  mock  dignity  and  skill  of  the  most  dex- 
terous grooms,  or  of  the  bear-leaders  of  Smorgo- 
nia.  To  look  at  their  efforts,  you  would  sup- 
pose that  the  spirited  steeds  were  about  to  burst 
away  from  them.  The  riders  were  mounted 
•with  their  face  to  the  tail,  with  their  shoubas 
tiimed  the  wrong  side  out.    On  their  heads  were 


helmets  made  ot  birch-bark,  pointed  at  the  top, 
with  crests  of  birch-brooms,  such  as  form  the 
costume  of  the  devil  among  our  artists  of  Souz- 
dal.  Their  triumphant  brows  were  adorned 
with  a  thick  wreath  of  straw,  and  the  inscrip- 
tion— "  The  Army  of  Satan  !"  Their  faces  were 
like  those  in  the  common  prints  of  the  Last 
Judgment,  so  pale  were  they,  so  terrified,  so 
confused.  Was  this  to  be  wondered  at"?  The 
condemned  knew  not  what  might  be  the  end  of 
the  triumphal  procession  amidst  the  people, 
which  besieged  them  with  their  shouts,  and  was 
perhaps  about  to  pelt  them  with  stones.  They 
could  hardly  keep  their  seat  on  their  horses. 
One  struggles  to  preserve  his  equilibrium  like  a 
skilful  balancer,  and  sits  his  jade  as  if  he  was 
mounted  on  a  tight-rope :  another  waves  his 
head  like  a  pendulum,  or  incessantly  ducks. 
Now  one  of  the  steeds  makes  a  false  step,  and 
the  rider  slides  downward  with  him;  nothing 
but  the  strength  of  the  leader  holds  them  up. 
One,  turning  his  arms  backward,  cunningly  lays 
hold  of  the  main ;  another  delicately  takes  hold 
of  the  point  of  the  tail  with  two  or  three  fingers, 
as  a  skilful  wigmaker  takes  up  the  toupee  of  his 
customer.  There  was,  however,  one  desperate 
fellow  among  the  train,  who,  turning  his  leg 
over  his  horse's  back,  sits  as  on  a  cushion,  nod- 
ding with  his  helmet  to  the  people,  and  making 
them  die  with  laughing  at  his  comical  grimaces. 
This  piece  of  audacity  was  rewarded  by  the 
laughter  and  the  forbearance  of  the  spectators. 

But  this  forbearance  was  paid  for  by  the  oth- 
ers. At  first  the  procession  was  encountered 
with  laughter  and  insults.  They  shouted — 
"Dogs!  ....  they  crucified  Christ!  Jews! 
devils!  What  campaign  are  they  going  onl 
....  To  their  prince,  Satan !"  Despite  of 
these  cries  the  procession  continued  to  advance 
in  order.  Soon,  however,  the  mob  was  not  con- 
tent with  insult;  they  began  to  spit  in  the  cul- 
prits' faces.  Then  this  became  too  little.  Black- 
guard boys  began  to  seize  the  horses  by  the  tail, 
to  pull  them,  and  to  lash  them  with  whips,  to 
adorn  them  with  bunches  and  garlands  of  burrs, 
with  which  they  had  provided  themselves.  Oth- 
ers roared — "Whatl  do  we  meet  the  boyarins 
and  princes  of  his  highness,  Satan,  without  o^ 
fering  them  bread  and  salf?  Can't  we  spare 
them  somel  ....  We  have  enough!"  and 
therewith  a  hail-storm  of  stones  began  to  show- 
er upon  the  unhappy  wretches.  Then  the 
beasts,  though  they  were  long  suffering  enough, 
at  last  were  driven  frantic.  One  four-footed 
Bolivar  kicked  desperately,  broke  his  halter, 
dashed  out  of  the  rauks,  and,  by  so  doing,  de- 
stroyed all  the  regularity  of  the  procession.  The 
signal  was  given  :  the  confusion  spread  like  fire 
among  straw.  Even  those  very  animals  which 
had  gone  all  their  lives  at  a  quiet  pace,  grew 
restive  all  of  a  sudden,  and  lost  all  respect  for 
their  leaders.  One  prances,  another  kicks,  an- 
other bites,  another  lies  down ;  a  few,  in  whose 
blood  seethed  the  fire  of  the  free  steppes,  raa 
away.  Then  the  uproar  became  almost  gener- 
al. Some  of  the  leaders  let  go  the  reins;  the 
riders  commend  their  souls  to  God.  One  man's 
helmet  is  forced  over  his  eyes,  and  he,  at  one 
moment  arranging  that,  at  another,  studying  to 
guide  his  horse,  performs  feats  of  posture-making 
that  he  could  not  have  executed  at  another  time 
for  love  or  money.  Another's  helmet  flies  on  one 
side,  and  he  bends  over  like  the  leaning  tower 
of  Pisa.  A  third  has  clutched  his  horse's  tail, 
and  in  the  most  farcical  manner  conceivaWe, 


134 


THE   HERETIC. 


he  holds  his  bouquet  to  his  nose;  another  has 
embraced  wilh  passionate  lervour  the  waist  of 
his  four-footed  friend.  Many  fall  off— on  whom 
as  they  lie,  to  contradict  the  proverb,  fall  show- 1 
ers  of  blows;  the  lowest  of  the  rabble  fails  notj 
to  set  his  seal  on  them — the  mark  of  his  despo- ! 
tism  of  an  hour.  ! 

But  what  is  this  that  is  dashing  on  against  the ' 
tumultuous  horde,  swifter  than  the  bird,  fleeter' 
than  the  wind?  ....  A  blood  stallion  without 
a  rider!  He  seems  to  flv  in  air,  and  the  cloud 
of  dust  alone,  which  rolls  beneath  him,  shows 
that  he  touches  the  earth.  His  nostrils  burn  like 
red-hot  coals;  and  the  rich  bridle  anil  the  Cir- 
cassian saddle,  decorated  with  golden  damask, 
and  his  black  silken  coat— all  glitter  like  fire  in 
the  sunbeams,  and  he  is  all  on  fire  himself  No- 
thing can  stop  him;  he  overthrows,  he  tramples 
down,  he  flies  over  all  that  is  in  his  way.  The 
people  forgets  its  sport;  every  eye  is  turned  on 
the  steed:  those  who  are  nearest  to  him  wrestle 
and  struggle  to  get  out  of  his  way.  They  cry 
— "  Catch  him,  catch  him,  'tis  the  Tsarevitch's 
steed!  Arlstotleff's  steed!"  ....  But  no  man 
attempts  to  seize  him— seize  a  bird  on  the  wing! 
....  In  his  frenzy  the  horse  dashes  straight  at 
the  railing  which  surrounds  the  cannon  shed, 
and — the  top  spikes  are  in  his  chest.  Once 
breathed  the  noble  brute,  and  fell  dead. 

Whose  horse  is  it  1  Who  is  the  rider  he  haih 
thrown  off?  ....  Good  Lord!  is  it  Andriousha, 
Aristoileff's  sonl 

No,  this  was  the  steed  of  the  Tsareviteh  Kara- 
kaicha,  the  son  of  the  favourite  of  the  Tsar. 
Fiery  and  mettlesome,  he  had,  however,  hither- 
to obeyed  his  powerful  and  dexterous  lord.  The 
Tsareviich,  almost  born  in  the  saddle,  had  al- 
ways been  able  to  guide  him  to  his  will.  Both 
Asiatics,  the  steed  and  rider  understood  each 
other  well.  What  could  have  happened  to  the 
unfortuna'.e  animal  1  whether  from  the  cries  of 
the  peop!  •  'r  the  uproar  of  the  procession,  he 
had  sud.jniy  turned  frantic,  had  thrown  his 
rider,  and  had  darted  off,  as  if  possessed  wilh  an 
evil  spirit.  They  said  that  an  unknown  man, 
pushing  himself  out  from  the  fi-rst  ranks  of  the 
people,  had  but  looked  at  him  from  behind  .  .  . 
Who  he  was,  what  was  his  appearance,  nobody 
could  exactly  tell.  It  was  certain  he  was  a 
■witch,  an  enchanter!"  .... 

The  Tsareviteh  is  lying  without  movement  in 
the  square  ....  a  statue  cast  in  bronze,  hurled 
down  from  its  pedestal !  The  pallor  of  death 
appears  even  through  his  tawny  face;  his  lips 
are  white,  his  head  is  deeply  gashed:  that  lie 
lived  could  onlj  be  guessed  by  the  streams  of 
blood,  dyeing  with  their  purple  the  ground  which 
pillows  him. 

The  people  made  a  circle  round  him,  groan- 
ing and  disputing :  no  one  thinks  of  offering  help. 
The  Tartars  burst  through  the  ring,  make  their 
way  up  to  their  dying  prince,  cry  and  sob  over 
him.  Immediately  after  them  gallops  up  the 
Tsareviteh  Danyar.  He  leaps  from  his  horse, 
throws  himself  on  the  body  of  his  son,  beating 
his  breast  and  tearing  his  hair;  and  at  last,  feel- 
ing life  yet  in  his  boy's  heart,  commands  his 
servants  to  carry  him  home.  Antony,  too, 
hastens  up,  desiring  to  examine  the  wounded 
man — they  do  not  allow  him  to  approach. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  news  of  the  accident 
reached  the  Great  Prince  himself.  He  loved 
Danyar,  and  God  knows  what  he  would  not 
have  sacrificed  to  restore  him  an  only  and  pas- 
sionately loved  son,  the  last  scion  of  his  race. 


Antony  was  summoned.  He  was  commanded 
to  ride  instantly  to  the  palace  of  the  Tartar 
Tsareviteh,  to  examine  the  wounded  youth,  and 
to  return  to  the  Great  Prince  with  infornaation 
whether  he  would  live,  and  whether  he  could  be 
cured.  With  him  were  dispatched  the  dvoretzkoi 
and  another  boyarin.  They  were  to  convey  the 
commands  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch  to  Danyar,  to 
permit  the  leech  to  examime  his  son. 

The  Tartar  did  not  dare  to  oppose  the  awful 
will  of  the  Great  Prince;  Antony  was  admitted 
to  the  bedside  of  the  young  Tsareviteh.  The 
blood  had  ceased  to  flow,  but  a  fever  had  exhibit- 
ed itself,  though  not  in  a  violent  stage.  The 
leech  did  not  confine  himself  to  a  mere  inspec- 
tion; he  even  outstepped  the  orders  of  the  Great 
Prince.  The  indispensable  bandages  were  pre- 
pared, and  then  the  seat  of  injury  was  sought 
for.  Ivan  Vassilievitch  was  expec  ing  the  leech 
with  such  impatience  that  he  came  to  meet  him 
on  his  return.  "How  is  heT'  he  enquired,  in 
an  agitated  voice. 

"God  is  merciful!"  replied  the  leech:  "the 
hurt  is  severe,  fever  hath  shown  itself,  but  the 
wounds  and  the  disea.se  are  not  mortal.  If  thou 
wilt  permit  me  to  treat  the  Tsareviteh,  he  will 
be  cured." 

"Save  him,  and  I  will  refuse  thee  nothing; 
thou  shah  forever  walk  in  my  favour  and  hon- 
our.    But  beware  ....  canst  thou  cure  himT' 
"I  will  answer  for  it,  my  lord." 
"  Do  so,  and  then  ask  of  me  what  thou  wiltT' 
Ivan   Vassilievitch   had    hardly   pronounced 
these  words  when  there  galloped  up  to  the  Great 
Prince's  palace  the  Tsareviteh  Danyar. 

"  He  Cometh  not  for  nothing!"  cried  the  Great 
Prince,  turning  pale,  and  glancing  with  distrust 
at  his  leech  :  "  is  he  not  dead  already  V 

"It  cannot  be  ...  .  I  have  not  lied  to  thee, 
my  lord,"  answered  Antony  with  firmness. 

Danyar  rushed  up  to  the  Great  Prince,  fell  at 
his  feet,  and  cried,  in  a  voice  of  agony — "  Fa- 
ther, Ivan,  let  not  the  leech  go  to  my  child.  He 
hath  anointed  his  head  with  some  drug;  Karaka- 
icheuka  began  to  cry  as  if  he  had  eaten  hem- 
lock. Tartars,  Russians,  all  say  the  leech  will 
kill  him.  He  will  kill  him,  and  I  shall  die  wilh 
my  child.  The  Caesar's  ambassador  said  he 
hath  given  manv  poi"  .... 

"  Antony !"  broke  in  the  Great  Prince,  sternly 
gazing  at  him. 

"  They  are  fools  and  slanderers,  and  the  am- 
bassador too;  they  know  not  what  they  say, 
or  they  speak  from  hatred,"  replied  Antony. 
"When  I  went  to  the  sick,  he  was  lying  in  a 
fainting  fit.  With  my  bandages  and  medicine 
he  came  to  himself:  God  be  praised,  life  was 
awakened  in  him!  He  will  cry  out  a  little,  and 
then  he  will  stop.  If  he  is  not  treated,  and  if  he 
is  given  over  to  the  hands  of  the  Tartar  or  Rus- 
sian quacks,  then  I  cannot  answer  that  he  will 
not  die  to-morrow  or  the  next  day.** 

"  One  of  my  Tartars  is  going  to  cure  him," 
said  Danyar. 

"Thy  Tartars  lie!  ....  Enough  of  spraw- 
ling in  the  dust,  like  an  old  woman!"  replied 
Ivan  Vassilievitch,  making  a  sign  to  the  Tsare- 
viteh to  rise;  then,  turning  to  the  leech,  he  said 
—"Again  I  ask,  wilt  thou  pledge  thyself,  if  thou 
treatest  hir^i,  to  cure  the  Tsareviich  1" 

"  I  have  already  said  once,  my  lord ;  never  do 
I  lie— never  do  I  depart  from  my  word." 

"  Wilt  thou  lay  down  thy  head  in  pledge  here- 
of T'  asked  the  Great  Prince,  throwing  on  the 
I  leech  his  fiery  glance. 


THE    HERETIC. 


135 


•*"  'Twas  a  tremendous,  a  fatal  moment  for  An- 
tony'! ....    The  words  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch 

were  as  an  axe  suspended  over  his  head.    It  was 
ihe  great— "To  be,  or  not  to  be!"  of  Hamlet 
....     On  one  hand  was  the  dangerous  nature 

•of  the  disorder,  in  which  no  desperate  symptoms 
'had  shown  themselves;  his  honour,  insulted  by 
The  imperial  ambassador  in  the  eyes  of  the  Great 
'Prince  of  all  Moscow  ....     He  would  have  to 

sit  down  -with  the  titles  of  ignorant,  unlearned, 
quack;;  or  to  defeat  his  opponent  by  his  art,  his 
■knowledge,  to  win  forever  the  confidence  of  the 
Hussian  ruler  and  his  people,  to  tear  from  the 
hands  of  ignorance  and  hate  a  crown  of  honour 
for  science,  for  the  profit  of  humanity  .  .  .  . 

Was  it  not  for  this  that  Antony  had  journeyed  to 
an  imcivilized  country  ?     This  was  a  noble  op- 
portunity tor  his  object!  ....      On  the  other 

iiiand,  a  trifle  opposing  the  course  of  disease,  a 
■single  unfavourable  minute  sent  from  above,  and 
..... ..  farewell  Anastasia,  farewell  mother,  iare- 

;-well  all  that  now  so  strongly  bound  him  to  life 
— all  that  rendered  that  life  so  bright ! 

But  ....  honour — honour  gained  the  mas«- 

tery.    Antony  looked  to  heaven,  as  if  to  say — 
fnrely  Thou  wilt  not  desert  me!  and  then  pro- 
jiounced  aloud,  in  a  voice  which  sounded  of 
heartfelt  confidence — "I  will  lay  down  my  head 
-as  a  pledge.     But  on  condition"  .... 

'•  Hold,  thou  see'st  the  image  of  our  Saviour," 
interrupted  Ivan  Vassilievitch  in  his  majestic 
fatal  voice — "  I  call  God  to  witness,  that  if  thou 
Icillest   the   Tsarevitch   thy  head  shall  fly  off. 
Dost  thou  hearl  ....    My  word  never  passeth 

"by.     Cure  him,  and  the  daughter  of  any  of  my 
I'oyarins  is  thine,  and  any  lands  thou  wilt  in  all 
Russia." 

"  I  think  not  of  reward,"  said  Antony,  "  I 
think  but  of  my  Avord.     I  only  demand,  that  all 
my  orders  touching  the  sick  be  performed  punc- 
tually, word  for  word,  not  departing  from  them 
even  by  a  hair;    that  they  may  give  my  medi- 
cines at  the  times  and  in  the  manner  that  I  or- 
/der;    that  they  admit  me  to  the  Tsarevitch  at 
any  hour  of  day  or  night.     Further,  I  demand, 
that  one  of  thy  boyarins  of  trust,  whomsoever 
.ihou  mayest  appoint  —  except  Mamon  —  shall 
•watch  by  him  closely,  when  I  am  not  with  the 
•jpatient.     These  are    my  conditions,  my  lord; 
w-ithout  them  my  skill  and  my  good-will  are 
jiothing;  without  them  I  will  not  take  upon  me 
to  treat  him." 

"  Be   it  as  thou  wilt.      Dost  thou  hear,  my 
friend  T"  said  Ivan  kindly.   "  My  word  is  pledg- 
ed for  thy  son;  I  answer  for  him.     Get  thee 
Jiome,  listen  not  to  empty  tales,  and  disquiet  not 
thyself  in  vain.      But  if  after  this  thou  dost  not 
.according  to  my  word,  I  will  not  let  the  leech 
treat  thy  son,  and  I  will  be  thine  unfriend  be- 
:side." 

"  If  it  be  so,  father  Ivan,  I  will  obey  thee," 
said  Danyar. 

And  all,  more  or  less  reassured,  separated  to 
their  different  duties. 

Soon  Mam6n  heard  of  the  Tsarevitch's  acci- 
dent as  being  fatal.     One  of  his  servants  had 
informed  him  that  the  Tsarevitch  was  already 
dead. 

"  Ha,  my  friend !    thou  hast  earned  them — 
thou  hast  paid  for  my  silver  cups  !*....  said 

Mamon   to   his   son,  with  a  delight  which  he 
could  not  hide;  "hast  thou  heard  1" 
"  I  have  heard,"  coldly  replied  the  son. 
"  Ha  !  .  .  .  she  shall  not  be  the  Tsarevitch's — 
the  Tartar's  ;  she  shall  not  be  his  bride!     I  said 
it . . .  Rejoice,  son !" 


I      His  son  answered  him  with  a  hollow,  death- 
j  like  cough. 

I  As  yet  the  .secret  had  not  reached  them,  that 
I  Obrazetz  had  promised  his  daughter  to  Antony 
I  the  leech.  Although  Mamon  was  disturbed  by 
the  news,  that  the  old  voevoda  had  expelled  the 
heretic  from  his  house,  yet  the  tidings  of  the 
Tsarevitch's  death  compensated  in  the  mean 
time  for  this  discouragement. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE    LISTS. 

"  Be  of  good  courage  now  ;  trust  to  my  power  to  aid, 
To  help  thee  I  devote  my  soul,  my  wit,  my  blade." 

PHMAYLNITZKOI; 

"  He  do^g'd  his  foe,  he  tracked  him  long, 
He  found  him — struck — but  strength  and  speed 
Nerved  not  his  arm  iu  hour  of  need.'' 

POUSHKIX. 

Instantly  on  receiving  the  news  that  he  was 
invited  to  the  ordeal,  Khabar  galloped  from 
Tver,  knocking  up  a  number  of  horses  on  the 
road.  What  awaited  him  in  his  father's  house's 
His  father  dying,  his  sister  betrothed  to  a  here- 
tic ..  .  He  could  hardly  credit  the  latter  tidings 
— he  would  not  have  believed  it,  had  he  not 
heard  it,  from  his  father  himself  He  sincerely 
loved  Antony,  and  was  rejoiced  that  so  valiant 
and  generous  a  youth,  whom  he  was  ready  to 
consider  as  a  brother,  would  posses-s  his  sister. 
Approving  :)f  his  father's  consent,  he  spoke  to 
^im  of  the  noble  qualities  of  Antony  the  leech, 
c'  Ms  bravery,  his  attachment  to  the  Russians, 
ant.  '  ''s  desire,  probably  a  feeling  of  long  stand- 
ing, ti  'become  a  Russian  in  religion  and  in 
manners.  At  the  time  of  the  campaign  he  had 
often  found  him  in  prayer ;  he  had  given  him, 
at  his  urgent  entreaty,  together  with  the  Russian 
dress,  also  a  crucifix.  By  all  this  Antony's 
stain  of  heresy  was  obliterated;  the  Russian 
faith  would  purify  him  from  any  defilemen?, 
which  Latinism  might  have  left  on  his  souL 
Even  here,  by  the  bedside  of  a  dying  tathet*, 
Khabar-Simskoi  returned  to  his  vow  of  refor- 
mation, his  promise  to  be  for  the  future  without 
spot,  without  reproach.  In  his  ardent  but  yet 
firm  character  he  found  the  strength  to  pe?form 
this  vow.  Once  pure  from  all  the  reproach  of 
dissoluteness  and  wild  life,  the  only  vices  of  his 
character,  he  entered  that  oratory  where  his 
heart  had  been  so  powerfully  addressed  by  the 
voice  of  nature  and  of  religion  —  where  he  had 
performed  his  transformation.  How  sweetly 
did  this  resolution  and  these  tidings  of  Antony 
console  the  dying  old  man !  How  delighted 
was  Khabar  that  he  could  afford  him  this  con- 
solation, perhaps  in  the  last  hours  of  his  life  ! 

In  preparing  for  the  Usis,  Khabar  desired  to 
make  his  peace  with  all  at  variance  with  him; 
excepting,  of  course,  Mamon,  his  dispute  with 
whom  was  about  to  be  decided  by  the  judgment 
of  God.  Nevertheless  he  entreated  pardon  from 
Mamon's  son,  through  his  second,  for  having  in 
the  fist-combat  crippled  him  for  life.  He  visit- 
ed also  Selinova ;  he  implored  her  forgiveness, 
and  entreated  her  to  absolve  his  soul  from  the 
humiliations  which,  willingly  or  unwillingly,  he 
had  inflicted  upon  her.  How  could  the  young 
widow  refuse  to  pardon  him  for  whom  she  had 
periled  her  own  soul  1  One  word,  one  glance,  and 
she  was  once  more  his  slave.  Without  thinking 
ofagain  renewing  theirformer  ties,  Khabar  spoke 
to  her  of  the  sacredness  of  his  duties  towards  his 


THE    HERETIC. 


earthly  and  his  heavenly  Father — towards  his 
sister.  He  assured  her  with  a  solemn  oath, 
(without  an  oath  she  would  not  have  believed 
him,)  that  he  had  left  Haidee  forever,  and  would 
only  love  that  bride — that  sinless  maiden,  whose 
husband  he  would  be  with  the  choice  of  his  sire 
and  the  blessing  of  God.  He  also  counselled 
Selinova  to  think  of  her  reunion  with  virtuous 
people — to  think  of  shame,  of  God,  of  a  future 
life.  With  these  arguments  he  created  be- 
tween himself  and  her  a  sacred  barrier,  through 
which  even  her  desires  would  not  dare  to 
pass.  More  powerfully  than  all  the  eloquent 
demonstrations  of  this  young,  dark -browed 
preacher  with  burning  eyes,  acted  Khabiir's 
promise  never  more  to  see  the  most  dangerous 
of  her  rivals.  They  separated,  pleased  with 
each  other,  at  peace,  like  brother  and  sister  who 
had  been  contending.  This  feeling  of  brother 
and  sister  they  preserved  towards  each  other  till 
their  death.  That  the  young  widow  no  longer 
remembered  him  with  bitter  or  improper  senti- 
ments, she  soon  proved  in  the  most  convincing 
manner;  within  a  few  months  she  married  a 
handsome  young  monk  of  the  Augustine  order, 
Ivan,  (surnamed  among  us,  for  some  unknown 
reason,  Spasdcl — Saviour,)  whom  her  burning 
glances  had  succeeded  in  driving  mad  with  love 
— in  compelling  him  to  put  off  the  while  gown, 
and  to  adopt  the  Russian  faith.  With  her  hand 
the  new-made  Christian  received  estates  from 
the  Russian  Great  Prince,  and  both  have  been 
mentioned  by  the  Russian  Clio  in  the  following 
lines: — "May  17.  Ivan  Spasitel,  an  Italian, 
tonsured  chaplain  of  the  Augustine  rule  of 
white  monks,  renounced  his  faith,  and  quitted 
the  monkish  profession,  taking  to  wife  .... 
Selinova,  and  the  Great  Prince  vouchsafed  him 
a  village." 

You  remember  that  Mamon  had  taken  lessons 
of  fencing  from  a  courtier  in  the  train  of  the 
German  ambassador.  On  his  recovery  from  the 
effects  of  his  expedition  in  search  of  the  man- 
drake, he  had  applied  himself  with  peculiar  zeal 
to  his  warlike  instruction,  by  which  he  hoped 
to  secure  a  victory.  His  progress  was  more 
than  satisfactory:  eye,  hand,  heart,  guided  his 
well-aimed  blows.  With  this  circumstance 
Bartholomew  was  acquafnted.  Bartholomew 
had  experienced,  in  word  and  deed,  the  good- 
will of  the  old  voevoda,  whose  godson  he  was. 
You  may  judge  yourselves  whether  mere  grat- 
itude would  not  have  induced  him  to  gratify 
his  protector  with  a  new  and  important  piece  oi 
information  !  For  no  money  in  the  world  would 
he  have  betrayed  the  secret  of  Mamon  and  the 
imperial  ambassador;  but  duty — a  high,  a  holy 
duty — commanded  him  to  break  the  seal,  and 
with  an  anguish  of  the  heart,  enough  to  tear  him 
in  suntler,  he  carried  his  tribute  to  Obrazftz's 
bed-side.     Khabar  was  present  on  this  occasion. 

"  God  knoweth,"  said  the  eternal  translator  or 
talebearer,  "  that  it  is  only  from  the  most  ardent 
love,  from  the  most  deeply-elevated  devotion, 
that  I  disclose  to  you  my  great  secret.  I  implore 
you  to  be  silent  on  the  subject.  If  the  imperial 
ambassador  or  Mamon  were  to  know  what  I  am 
doinR,  1  might  feel  for  my  head  on  my  shoul- 
ders." 

He  was  parodying  the  imperial  ambas.sador's 
speech  to  the  Great  Prince. 

"Fear  not,  we  will  not  betray  thee,"  replied 
the  boyarin.  "  But  be  not  offended  at  my  ad- 
vice, good  godson;  if  thou  uiterest  it  not,  we 
shall  be  none  the  worse." 


"  From  thy  news,  Bartholomew  Vassilfe- 
vjich,"  cried  Khabar,  "  we  shall  not  reap  much 
good,  as  in  the  field,  where  we  have  ear  so  far 
from  ear,  that  each  other's  voice  they  cannot 
hear.     Be  not  angered." 

"  If  it  be  so,  as  ye  will  ....  ihx)U,  a  former 
leader,  and  thou,  present  leader  of  the  tremen- 
dous forces  of  our  most  illustrious  lord,  blame 
yourselves  if  the  victory  in  the  lists  remain  to 
your  enemy  ....  What  is  to  be  done  1  my 
sacrifice  pleaseth  you  not  ....  If  so,  I  will  be 
si"  .... 

He  was  about  to  say— I  will  be  silent ;  but  he 
did  not  finish  his  sentence.  He  had  not  strength 
enough  to  achieve  the  terrible  exploit  of  holding 
his  tongue.  He  had  rolled  up  in  his  breast  the 
stone  of  Sisyphus,  and  he  threw  it  off  at  one 
effort.  All  was  disclosed  that  he  had  to  disclose. 
"  And  what  of  this  V  asked  the  father,  fixing 
his  penetrating  eyes  on  his  son,  on  whose  face 
passed  a  slight  shade  of  thoughtfulness. 

"  What  1  Have  ye  then  forgot  the  brave  man 
that  the  Lithuanian  beat  by  the  trick  of  his 
weapon  ?  Yes,  ye  have  forgotten  wherefore,, 
from  that  time,  it  hath  been  forbidden  to  fight 
with  foreigners  !  .  .  .  .  But  there  is  yet  time  for 
thy  son.  In  two  or  three  days,  a  gifted  warrior 
like  him  may  learn  the  German  art  of  wielding 
the  sword.  Phit,  phit,  phit !" — (here  the  inter- 
preter drew  himself  up,  and  began  to  show  with, 
his  arms  how  to  advance  upon  an  opponent) — 
"and  pouf!  right  to  the  heart :  never  spare  him,. 

j  beat  him,  kill  him,  thrust  without  sparing,  up  to 
your  elbow,  right  into  that  bloodthirsty  heart,, 
whence  there  hath  streamed  forth  so  much  sor- 
row to  this  house,  that  reposeth  under  the  bless-- 
ing  of  God  !" 

Father  and  son  smiled  in  spite  of  themselves. 
"  Teach  me,  teach  me.  Master  Translator !" 
said  Khabar  ;  "  perhaps  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
fight  with  my  neighbour's  cock." 

"  Ye  laugh' !  You  may  laugh  !  now  I  am  old,"' 
exclaimed  Bartholomew  with  a  heavy  sigh,  like 
an  old  lion  which  can  no  longer  defend  him.self. 

["Ye  should  have  seen  me  in   former  years! 

j  Will  ye  believe  me  1  .  .  .  .  certes,  now  to  look 

•  at  me,  a  poor  cripple,  it  is  hard  to  believe  I  once 

i  fought  with  three  such  gallants  as  thou.  One 
lunged  at  my  eye,  another  at  my  heart,  a  third 
at  a  place  more  sensitive  ....  you  may  call  it 

I  ....  at  the  knee.  But  I  was  no  fool,  I  re- 
marked their  thrusts,  and  pif,  paf !  ....  the- 
fellow  that  aimed  at  my  eye,  had  his  own  eye- 

;  whipped  out.     I  spitted  it  on  the  point  of  my 

j  sword,  and  sent  it  straight  at  the  other's  heart, 
so  that  after  his  death  they  found  the  eye  stick- 
ing in  his  heart.     That's  the  way  to  do  it,  my 

;  lord  !" 

"  But  what  became  of  the  third,  did  he  sneak 
off!"  asked  KhabAr. 

I  "  The  third  ....  ha,  ha,  ha!  ...  .  the  stroke 
was  long  talked  of  in  Germany  as  a  wonder  of 
skill.  But  now  I  am  a  peaceful  citizen ;  my 
sword — the  tongue." 

!  "  Often  a  sword  over  jour  own  head,  Bar- 
tholomew," said  the  boyarm. 

"  Often  a  sword  wielded  for  the  good  of  my 
neighbour.  Now,  as  I  did  a  while  ago,  I  turn 
the  discourse  to  the  saving  of  thy  son.  The 
Germans  tell  me,  Mamon  will  certainly  kill  his 

:  opponent.  Why  should  not  your  son  learn  from. 
some  skilful   warrior,  such  as— not  to  go  far — 

.  from  Master  Aniony  ihe  leech?" 

I      "  Was  it  not  thou  ihat  said  that  he  was  afraid 

'  of  his  own  shadow  V  cried  Khabar. 


THE    HERETIC. 


137 


"  Then  my  tongue  ought  to  have  stuck  to  my 
throat !  What,  had  I  lost  my  reason  1  Cer- 
tainly, I  must  have  spoken  of  some  other  Anto- 
ny, a  German  ;  but  not  of  your  future  kinsman. 
Oh,  my  eyes  see  far !  ...  .  The  short  and  long  ot 
the  matter  is,  that  Master  Antony  fenceth  to  a 
marvel." 

"  I  have  heard  so  too  ;  but  the  short  and  long 
is,  that  I  shall  not  do  for  this  school,"  said  Kho- 
bar. "  I  trust  in  my  own  eye  and  hand ;  and 
more  than  all,  in  the  just  judgment  of  God.  I 
will  have  no  sharers  in  my  honour  or  dishonour, 
I  will  bow  to  no  man  for  my  head." 

The  eyes  of  Obrazelz,  hitherto  so  dim,  gleam- 
ed with  an  unusual  light.  He  arose  in  his  bed, 
and  exclaimed  in  a  quivering  voice  —  "Thus 
it  hath  ever  been  with  our  race !  My  son  will 
not  betray  the  heritage  of  his  forefathers :  Kha- 
bar,  yet  Simskoi  too.  What  the  Lord  shall  de- 
cide in  his  judgment,  so  be  it." 

"O,  if  so — if  my  cousel  please  you  not,"  in- 
terrupted Bartholomew  reddenning,  "then  know, 

I  have  still  a  way  left  to  serve  you But 

this  I  will  never  disclose ;  do  what  you  will,  I 
v/ill  never  disclose,  not  even  if  the  Great  Prince 
were  to  command  me.  ...  I  would  lay  my  head 

on  the  block  sooner  than  disclose  it Haply 

the  Almighty,  loving  you,  may  use  me  as  his 

instrument I  met  an  idiot  by  the  way, 

clearly  a  holy  man,  and  he  told  me  such  words 
that  ....  No,  do  as  ye  will,  I  will  never  disclose 
....  I  will  seal  up  my  heart,  I  will  lock  my  lips 
....  Farewell,  farewell!" 

And  Bartholomew,  fearing  for  his  own  deter- 
mination, fearing  to  betray  himself,  rushed, 
without  looking  around  him,  out  of  the  boyarin's 
palace. 

You  may  guess  that  father  and  son  could  not 
help  laughing  at  this  secret,  certainly  invented 
by  the  zeal  of  the  universal  flatterer. 

The  okolnitchi  had  fixed  the  day,  the  hour,  of 
the  ordeal  by  combat.  This  was  communica- 
ted to  the  sponsors  on  both  sides.  At  the  same 
time  they  were  asked,  whether  the  opponents 
would  do  battle  in  person  or  through  paid  war- 
riors. The  sponsors  bound  themselves  to  place 
the  parties  themselves  in  the  field  on  the  ap- 
pointed day.  Then  they  were  asked  witli  what 
arms  and  weapons  the  combatants  would  fight, 
on  foot  or  on  horseback.  They  answered  on 
foot,  and  with  swords. 

The  great  day  arrived.  Both  Mamon  and 
Khabar  had  fulfilled  their  Christian  duties,  as  if 
at  the  hour  of  death ;  it  may  be  guessed  with 
very  difierent  feelings.  Obrazetz  had  command- 
ed himself  to  be  carried  to  the  oratory,  and  there 
devoutly  with  tears  he  prayed,  and  awaited  the 
decision  of  the  ordeal. 

In  the  same  spot  where  now  stands  the  Church 
of  St.  Nicholas  in  the  Fields,  on  the  Nikolskoi, 
was  a  low  stone  barrier  about  half  the  height  of 
a  man,  surrounded  by  another  fence  of  living 
trees,  which  embraced  within  its  walls  a  four- 
cornered  piece  of  ground.  In  it  stood  a  wooden 
church,  dedicated  to  St.  George  the  Victorious, 
so  old  that  its  wails  on  each  side  had  sunk,  and 
the  roofs  were  dotted  with  the  mouldiness  of 
time.  Between  the  church  and  the  wall  was 
left  a  small  square,  perhaps  of  a  doze-n  fathoms, 
on  which  the  grass  was  beaten  down  by  horses' 
hoofs.  Sometimes  the  verdure,  sprinkled  with 
the  traces  of  blood,  midnight  sighs  and  groans, 
the  wandering  of  the  dead,  the  tapers  burning  in 
the  church  with  a  bloody  light,  all  these  marks 
give  rise  to  wonder,  when  I  add,  that  the  place 


on  which  they  might  be  .seen  was  called  the  Jield 
— that  is,  the  scene  of  judicial  combats. 

Early  in  the  morning,  when  it  was  hardly 
daylight,  a  crowd  of  horsemen  galloped  irom, 
different  points  to  the  barrier.  Some  arrived 
two  or  three  moments  before  the  others.  These 
were  the  okolnitchi,  the  deacon  Kouritzin,  a 
scribe,  Mamon  the  elder,  Khabar-Simskoi,  the 
two  sponsors,  the  two  seconds,  and  a  few  con- 
stables. Attendants  who  accompanied  them, 
took  their  masters'  horses,  and  presenting  the 
combatants  with  their  weapons,  retired  to  some 
distance  from  the  barrier.  The  sponsors  and 
seconds  were  commanded  to  bear  witness,  that 
they  had  brought  with  them  no  armour,  club,  or 
cudgel;  which  was  severely  forbid  by  the  laws. 
All  entered  the  barrier  through  a  wicket  except 
the  constables,  who  were  lelt  there  to  keep  watch 
that  no  one  should  venture  to  come  in  from  with- 
out. In  case  of  disobedience  the  constables' 
duty  was  to  seize  the  offenders,  and  commit  them 
to  prison.  It  is  true,  behind  one  corner  of  the 
barrier,  in  some  thick  tufts  of  nettles,  was  heard, 
a  rustling ;  but  it  either  did  not  awaken  the  sus- 
picions of  the  police-officers  of  that  day,  or  was 
left  by  them  purposely  without  search.  Perhaps 
the  scales  of  justice  had  been  weighed  down  on 
this  occasion  by  gold,  friendship,  or  interest; 
who  can  tell  by  whatl 

The  wicket  was  made  fast  with  a  strong  iroa 
crook;  those  who  were  thus  locked  in  proceed- 
ed to  the  wooden  fence  surrounding  the  church. 
Here  the  okolnitchi  demanded  of  the  combatants 
who  were  "  their  sponsors  and  seconds."  Whea 
they  were  pointed  out,  Mamon  and  Khabar,  and. 
after  them  the  sponsors  and  seconds,  were  com-- 
manded  to  kiss  the  cross  which  was  fixed  in  the: 
church  door.  From  all  of  them  was  required  an. 
oath,  that  they  with  their  arms  "had  never  gone 
to  any  witches  or  astrologers;  that  they  had 
brought  no  witches  to  the  field;  and  that  there 
would  be  none  thereof  in  the  field."  Which  be- 
ing affirmed  by  kissing  the  cross,  they  were  in- 
formed that  if  they  had  done  this  "  unfairly,"  and 
trustworthy  witnesses  should  disclose  the  same, 
they  would  undergo  by  the  laws  of  the  city,  from, 
the  Lord  of  All  Russia,  a  severe  punishment, 
and  from  the  priests,  by  the  ecclesiastical  disci- 
pline, clerical  excommunication. 

From  the  porch  they  advanced  into  the  field.. 
They  measured  out  the  circle,  perhaps  a  fatal 
one  for  one  of  the  combatants.  The  adversaries 
entered  it.  The  seconds  and  sponsors  were  in- 
structed where  they  were  to  stand,  behind.  Thea 
Khabar's  second  informed  the  okolnitchi  and 
the  deacon,  that  the  fight,  contrary  to  law,  was 
uneven,  and  therefore  could  not  begin.  They 
demanded  explanation.  It  appeared  that  Ma- 
mon's  shirt  of  mail  was  longer  than  Khabar's, 
and,  consequently,  defended  him  more  from, 
blows. 

"  Let  it  alone !"  cried  Khabar.  "  The  heavier 
the  armour  the  richer  the  spoil." 

"  'Ti-s  for  a  trader  to  think  of  gain  !"  said  Ma- 
mon ;  "  I  will  take  my  foe's  body  without  weight 
or  measure." 

"Well,  if  I  am  a  trader,  I  will  measure  thine 
armour  with  my  sword;  I  will  pay  for  it  with, 
thy  blood. "^ 

Mamon  bowed.  "As  we  have  met,  then  wilt 
I  give  it  for  thy  soul's  rest,  and  even  this  day 
hang  it  on  thy  grave." 

"  An  unnecessary  pain  for  thee,  my  lord !  .  .  .  . 
I  will  rather  take  it  as  a  keepsake  of  my  friend. 
Why  delay  1    Even  now  I  will  put  on  the  boya- 


138 


THE    HERETIC. 


rin's  precious  gift.     Therefore  my  arms  are  su- 
perfluous." 

With  these  words,  Khabar  took  off  his  helmet 
£nd  shirt  of  mail,  and  hurled  them  over  the  bar- 
rier like  a  pebble. 

"  I  will  not  be  left  behind  !"  cried  Mamon,  as 
he  doffed  his  own  armour.  "We  waste  words, 
not  blood.  Thou  spendest  time,  boy;  it  is  plain 
thou  art  sorry  to  leave  the  fair  world." 

"  Thou  railest  at  me  for  the  good  I  do !  ...  . 
say  rather,  I  thank  ye.  I  give  thee  another  hour 
in  God's  world  to  enjoy  thyself.  But  there  are 
bounds  even  to  kindness.  It  is  time  for  Mamon 
to  seek  the  place  where  dwell  other  Mamons. 
•Come  on !" 

And  they  advanced,  Khabar  — handsome, 
"bright,  like  the  bright  day  of  heaven;  Mamon 
-^gk)omy  as  the  grave,  with  a  face  scarred  with 
'••bloody  seams,  with  his  forest  of  hair  standing 
erect,  as  if  his  hellish  hate  had  armed  that  too 
to  the  fight,  with  eyes  starting  from  their  sock- 
ets; Khabar  full  of  the  justice  of  his  cause,  the 
bravery  of  his  race,  and  hope  in  God;  Mamon, 
overflowing  with  revenge  and  malice,  no  less 
Iwave,  inspired  besides  with  confidence  in  his 
skill — "Thou  wilt  conquer,"  said  his  teachers 
to  him,  Poppel's  courtiers  and  Poppel  him- 
self. These  words  gave  wings  to  his  soul, 
armed  his  hand  with  unusual  firmness,  his  eye 
with  unusual  certainty.  In  reality  the  fighi 
soon  became  unequal.  Khabar  perpetually 
attacked,  Mamon  only  endeavoured  to  defend 
himself  and  parry  his  adversary's  blows  ;  in  do- 
ing so  he  was  gradually  e.xhan.-ting  him.  The 
son  of  Obrazetz  already  perceived,  though  in- 
distinctly, that  the  superiority  was  on  the  side 
of  his  opponent;  for  the  first  time  in  his  lite 
his  heart  was  visited  by  uneasiness.  Mamon 
seemed  to  grow  taller  and  broader  before  him. 
Forced  back  almost  to  the  fatal  circle,  where  a 
half  step  backward — and  ruin  awnited  him,  and 
shame  to  all  the  race  of  Simskoi,  Khabar  sought 
'for  means  to  gain  one  step  forward.  Once  he 
had  been  wounded  in  the  shoulder,  once  he  had 
been  almost  disarmed.  And  now  the  blow  was 
raised  which  bent  him  back,  as  a  strong  arm 
bows  a  young  birch-tree. 

Thine  hour  is  come,  gallant  youth !  Far  and 
-wide,  gaily,  in  pleasure  and  in  joy,  hast  thou 
■wandered  along  the  fairest  path  of  life;  the 
beautiful  l«ve  twined  thy  dark  curls,  showering 
varm  kisses  on  thine  eyes  and  lips,  have  cherish- 
ed thee  in  their  downy  bosoms :  thy  comrades 
have  bowed  before  thee:  thy  father,  Russia, 
have  "loried  in  thee.  Thou  hast  lived  thv  life, 
thou  hast  filled  ihy  breast  with  joy.  Thine 
hour  is  come  for  thee  to  lay  thy  gallant  head  in 
the  cool  damp  earth.  Why  didst  thou  not  lay  it 
down  in  the  stricken  field',  in  honourable  fight 
asrainst  the  Tartars  and  the  Mordrui,  the  foes  of 
Mother  Moscow,  the  golden  pinnacle  of  Rus- 
sia"? Then  thou  hadst  died,  wept  by  thy  com- 
panions in  arms,  and  thou  wouldst  have  lived 
in  the  memory  of  thy  people.  But  now  thou 
mnsi  die  a  shameful  ifeath  ....  And  they  will 
refuse  ihi-e  Christian  burial. 

His  .second  turned  pale;  the  deacon,  the  okol- 
nitchi,  were  Ionising  in  their  souls  to  ward  off 
the  blow  ....  this  might  be  seen  in  their  eyes, 
hi  the  movement  of  iheir  heads  ....  they  strain 
forward,  as  though  the  sword  were  raised  above 
them. 

At  this  very  in.stant  some  one  from  behind  the 
barrier  cried  out—"  The  eagles  are  coming !  the  j 
.engles !"     Mamon  shuddered,  turned  pale,  look- ' 


ed  up  to  the  sky,  and  retired  in  spite  of  himself; 
Did  he  expect  to  sec  his  winged  foes?  Were 
they  flying  to  take  part  in  the  fight  against  him* 
The  blow  was  lost.  It  was  plain  God  himself 
was  on  Khabar's  side.  The  son  of  Obrazetz 
hastened  to  profit  by  his  opponent's  unexpected 
panic,  and  to  take  up  a  lavourable  posilian. 
"  Recover  thyself!"  he  cried  to  him.  But 
Mamon  had  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  and  act- 
ed like  a  child.  Soon  the  sword  is  beaten  from 
his  hand,  his  wrist  and  face  are  deeply  gashed. 
His  antagonist,  feeling  that  he  owed  his  Victory 
to  accident,  gives  him  his  life.  Disfigured  for 
ever,  almost  blinded,  Mamon  curses  every  thing 
and  all  men;  himself,  the  witnesses,  and  Provi- 
dence— he  blasphemes.  "Do  I  wish  to  liveT' 
he  screams  to  Khabar — "I  do;  I  will  live  for 
the  ruin  of  thee  and  thy  race.  Thou  hast  made 
a  mistake,  my  friend!  ....  It  had  been  well 
for  thee  if  thou  hadst  killed  me !" 

The  constables  search,  or  pretend  to  search, 
for  the  person  who  cried  out  about  the  eagles, 
but  do  not  succeed  in  finding  him.  (This  failure 
is  to  be  attributed  to  the  power,  perhaps  also  to 
the  bribes,  of  Kouriizin.)  The  judges  and  wit- 
nesses of  the  combat,  the  deacon  himself,  gaze 
in  terror  in  each  other's  faces,  as  if  asking 
whence  came  the  strange  voice — the  strange  cry 
about  the  eagles  1  Why  did  the  mention  of 
eagles  terrify  the  combatant  1  This  is  not  nalu- 
rat;  was  it  magic,  or  a  voice  from  God  1 

And  who  do  j-ou  think  it  was  who  had  cried 
out?  Bartholomew.  The  interpreter  had  kept 
his  word — he  had  performed  a  service,  and, 
screened  by  the  bushes  which  surrounded  the 
circle,  he  had  escaped  safe  and  sound  from  his 
benevolent  ambuscade.  If  he  had  not,  he  would 
have  soon  found  himself  in  prison.  Oh,  to  do  a 
service,  he  was  ready  even  for  the  fetters! 

The  ordeal  was  decided.  The  second  of  the 
defeated  combatant  called  his  attendants.  Ma- 
mon, all  streaming  with  blood,  was  borne  hcire 
his  sponsor  paid  the  okolnitchi  and  the  deacon 
a  fee,  the  scribe  drew  up  an  account  of  the  com- 
bat, the  deacon  signed  it. 

In  the  mean  time,  Khabar,  beneath  the  porch, 
w-as  praying  to  St.  George  the  Victorious,  who 
had  lifted  up  his  sword  in  his  behalf 

At  length  solitude  reigned  in  the  lists.  The 
birds  of  prey  alone  flew  up,  to  look  whether 
there  was  no  carrion  for  them. 

Khabar  foimd  his  father  in  the  orator}-.  There 
Obrazetz  had  been  kneeling  in  prayer,  and  had 
fallen  into  a  death-like  .lethargy.  On  one  side 
he  was  supported  by  Anastasia,  who  was  be- 
dewing him  with  her  tears,  on  the  other  by  the 
old  nurse.     Suddenly  he  began  to  quiver. 

"  He  comes !"  he  cried,  turning  to  the  image 
of  the  Saviour,  his  eyes  glimmering  with  un- 
wonted light. 

Some  one  stealthily  darted  into  the  adjoining 
chamber.    Anastasia  had  not  heard  it,  but  the 

father  had The  door  opened.  '  Khabar 

stood  before  them. 

"  The  field  is  fought  1"  asked  the  dying  man. 

"It  is.  Not  I,  but  the  Lord  hath  conquered," 
replied  his  son,  and  related  how  the  combatants 
had  borne  themselves;  not  concealing  his  ill 
success  at  the  beginning  of  the  battle,  nor  the 
accident  to  which  he  owed  his  victory. 

"  Very  merciful  art  thou  to  me,  O  Lord  !  .  .  .  . 
thou  ha.«t  saved  my  race  from  shame  ....  I  may 
die  in  honour  ....  Ivan  ....  Anastasia  .... 
Ant  ....  receive  my  bles"  .... 

He  could  not  utter  more,  bnt  made  a  sign  that 


THE    HERETIC. 


139 


they  should  bear  him  to  the  image;  and  he 
passed  away  in  the  arms  of  his  chiUlren.  The 
face  cf  the  dead  was  lighted  with  the  smile  of 
the  jnst ;  assuredly  angels  had  welcomed  to  them- 
selves an  earthly  guest  returning  home  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    MSPUTE   FOR    THE   BRIDE. 

And  gloomilr  the  witch  repeated  : 
"  Soon  shall' he  fall,  soon  shall  he  fall !" 
Then  thrice  between  her  lips  she  mutter'd, 
Thrice  stamp'd  her  foot  upon  the  ground, 
And,  a  wing'd  snake,  awav  she  flutter'd. 

RousLAN  and  LiudmiLa. 

The  Tsarevitch  Karakatcha  was  sitting  up 
in  bed.  His  head  was  still  handaged ;  on  his 
face  remained  traces  of  his  disease  ;  but  it  was 
evident  that  the  energies  of  powerful  vigorous 
life  were  obliterating  them.  A  malicious  smile 
was  on  hi-s  lips — from  time  to  time  he  burst 
into  a  laugh. 

Wh  U  was  the  cause  of  his  merriment  1  The 
jests  with  which  Roussalka  was  amusing  him. 
The  dvoretzkoi  had  so  well  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing himself  agreeable  to  the  youth,  that  he  had 
become  his  inseparable  companion.  Though 
this  nurse  of  the  masculine  gender  had  not  at 
first  much  pleased  Antony,  who  well  knew  his 
crafty  disposition,  yet  in  the  end  be  had  him- 
self begged  him  to  make  frequent  visits  to  the 
patient,  seeing  how  successfully  the  old  man 
had  assisted  the  cure  with  his  jokes ;  and  the 
recovery  had  been  rendered  difficult  by  the  fits 
of  rage  to  which  the  spoiled  Tartar  had  given 
way.  What  was  there  that  Roussalka  would 
have  refused  to  do,  to  afford  pleasure  to  the 
young  Tsarevitch  !  At  one  time  he  gratified 
him  with  the  music  of  a  cat,  suspended  in  the 
air  at  the  tail  of  a  kite  ;  at  another  he  delighted 
his  benevolent  heart  by  bringing  him  an  offer- 
ing of  birds,  which  the  invalid  cut  to  pieces 
w-ith  his  sabre,  or  blinded.  And  then  Roussal- 
ka would  represent,  with  gestures  enough  to 
make  one  die  of  laughing,  the  Germans,  with 
itheir  ambassador,  and  the  manner  of  their  ap- 
pearance at  the  court  of  the  Great  Prince  ;  or 
the  Russians,  when  they  brought  tribute  to  the 
Tartar  Khans,  and  himself  and  his  own  father 
in  the  form  of  a  he-goat.  Since  the  time  of  his 
accident,  the  Tsarevitch  could  not  hear  without 
a  shudder  the  clatter  of  a  horse's  foot,  or  even 
his  neigh.  For  a  Tartar  to  be  afraid  of  a 
steed,  was  the  same  thing  as  for  a  sailor  to 
dread  the  water.  Thi«  gave  great  anxiety  to 
Danyar.  To  remedy  this  misfortune,  to  cure 
liis  son  of  hippophobia,  the  dvoretzkoi  took  on 
himself  Success  confirmed  the  promises  and 
proved  the  labours  of  Roussalka.  He  frequent- 
ly played  at  Henry  the  Fourth's  game— that  is, 
he  transformed  himself  into  a  nag,  went  on  all 
fours,  neighing  and  prancing.  The  difference 
was  only  this— that  the  good  king  made  him- 
self a  child  for  his  own  little  children,  while  the 
♦Ivoretzkoi  played  the  quadruped  to  amuse  a 
Tartar  Tsarevitch  of  eighteen.  The  game, 
however,  finished  by  Karakatcheuka  mounting 
on  his  back,  and  driving  him  along  with  good 
cuts  of  the  whip.  And  for  this  the  tender, 
:Marrow-eyed  papa  knew  not  how  to  thank  the 
«clever,  obliging  courtier. 


The  news  was  already  generally  known,  that 
Obrazetz  had  given  his  dying  benediction  on  his 
daughter's  union  with  Antony  the  leech.  This 
unexpected  circumstance  had  overwhelmed 
Mamun  with  unusual  despair— already  tortured 
in  body  and  soul.  He  sought  anew  an  oppor- 
tunity of  revenging  himself  on  Obrazetz,  even 
in  the  grave,  through  his  children.  "Thou 
hast  altogether  forgot  me,"  he  said  to  his  friend 
the  dvoretzki ;  "  where  is  thy  word,  where 
thine  oath  1  Is  it  thus  thou  rewardest  me  for 
my  services  1  Did  I  not  save  thy  head  in  the 
matter  of  the  Prince  Loukomskii  1  .  .  .  .  Crush 
me  this  leech  in  any  way  thou  wilt  ....  I 
have  promised  it  to  the  imperial  ambassador 
.  .  .  .  I  have  sworn  that  the  daughter  of  Obra- 
zetz shall  never  be  wed  to  living  man  ....  If 
thou  wilt  not  pleasure  me  in  this,  then  will  I 
never  let  thee  rest  even  in  the  other  world." 

Delicacy,  if  not  conscience,  was  aroused  in 
the  dvoretzkoi  by  this  reproach  :  it  reminded 
him,  also,  of  something  which  his  friend's  dis- 
cretion had  left  unsaid — the  rich  gifts  which 
Mamon  had  showered  upon  him  with  a  prodigal 
hand  from  his  treasury.  Whether  these  were 
followed  by  new  gifts,  or  whether  gratitude  was 
his  only  inducement,  we  know  not  :  we  only 
know,  that  Roussalka  promised  his  sick  friend 
to  dissolve  the  new  connexion. 

In  order  to  attain  his  object,  he  insinuated 
himself  into  the  confidence  of  Karakatcha  :  he 
began  by  extolling  Anastasia's  beauty,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  awaking  in  the  young  Asiatic,  with 
fiery  unbridled  passions,  a  desire  to  possess 
her  whatever  it  might  cost.  The  Tsarevitch 
had  never  in  h>s  life  been  denied  any  thing ; 
had  he  asked  for  bird's  milk,  even  that  would 
have  been  sought  for  to  please  him  :  so  spoiled 
was  he  by  his  father.  But  for  a  heretic  to  ob- 
tain, without  circuitous  proceedings,  a  Russian 
maiden,  the  daughter  of  a  boyarin,  was  not  even 
to  be  thought  of.  In  the  path  between  them 
there  stood  an  important  condition,  before 
which  it  would  be  necessary  to  bow— namely, 
the  change  of  religion  :  there  were  also  obsta- 
cles—Obrazetz's  blessing  on  his  daught6?r's  be- 
trothal to  Antony  the  leech,  and  the  consent  of 
the  Great  Prince.  The  condition  might  in- 
stantly be  obviated,  by  performing  it :  to  anni- 
hilate the  obstacle  Roussalka  was  now  feeling 
his  way. 

"  She  was  betrothed  to  thee  by  the  Great 
Prince  himself,"  said  the  artful  dvoretzkoi, 
among  other  things;  "for  this  our  lord,  Ivan 
Vassilievitch,  pledged  his  word  to  thy  father  as 
they  were  marching  on  the  campaign  against 
Tver.  'Twill  be  a  pity  if  she  belong  to  an- 
other !  Shame,  if  the  Tsarevitch's  bride  belong 
to  an  Almayne  leech  !  The  people  will  say — 
the  Tsarevitch  was  drinking  mead,  but  it  ran 
over  his  lips,  and  went  not  down  bis  throat : 
the  precious  goblet  was  plucked  from  his  hand 
by  a  foreign  stranger  fellow  !" 

"  I  will  give  her  up  to  no  man  !"  cried  Kara- 
katcha, striking  his  fist  on  the  bed.  "  Ivan 
Vassilievitch  promised  her  to  me ;  so  she  is 
mine.  Did  he  promise  her  in  jest !  My  father 
gave  him  his  warriors,  and  he  hath  not  takea 
them  back." 

And  Karakatcheuka  began  to  roll  about,  to 
cry  like  a  spoiled  child,  to  whom  his  nurse  will 
not  give  some  favourite  toy. 


140 


THE    HERETIC. 


"  Console  thy  darling  boy,"  said  the  dvoretz-  j  more.  Call  our  Tartars,  and  let  them  flog  him 
kni  to  Danyar  alone  ;  "  promise  him  Obrazetz's  '.  to  the  gate  with  their  whips." 
daughter,  though  falsely  !  She  flits  before  thei  "The  man  that  toucheth  me  shall  not  remain 
poor  child  even  in  his  dreams.  When  he  is '  alive,"  said  Antony  sternly,  laying  his  hand  on 
well,  then  thou  canst  manage  as  thou  thinkestj  his  stiletto,  his  inseparable  companion.  "My 
fit.     But,  now  he  is  weak,  yield  to  his  humour.";  Lord  Dvoretzkoi,  wert  thou  not,  thou,  a  confi- 

The  fond  father  promised  to  tranquillize  his   dential  servant  of  the  Great  Prince,  placed  here 


dear  son  by  confirming  the  dvoretzkoi's  words, 
that  .\nastasia  was  really  promised  to  him  by  the 
Great  Prince,  and  that  no  power  on  earth  could 
deprive  him  of  his  bride.  The  leech,  he  added, 
they  could  drive  from  his  claim  by  threats  or 
bribes.     He  was  no  very  terrible  enemy !     He 


that  they  might  obey  my  orders,  and  dost  thou 
allow  me  to  be  insulted  by  senseless  Tartars  !" 
Seeing  that  the  flame  he  had  kindled  was 
likely  to  burst  forth  into  an  inextinguishable 
conflagration,  Roussalka  began  to  cool  it.  Let 
it  burst  forth  without  him,  so  much  the  better. 


would  consider  it  a  happiness  to  give  way  to  j  so  long  as  he  could  keep  out  of  it  himself.     He 
the  Tsarevitch.  !  went  up,  now  to  the  father,  now  to  the  son. 

In  this  discussion  Antony  found  his  patient  j  implored  them  to  abate  their  wrath;  he  as- 
and  his  nurse.  On  examining  the  former,  he. '  sured  them  that  the  afllair  should  be  settled 
according  to  all  the  symptoms,  might  congratu-  j  without  violence  ;  that  he,  their  faithful  servant, 
late  hiiTiself  on  his  speedy  recovery  ;  he  only  j  would  lose  his  head  if  harm  was  offered  to  the 


found  a  slight  degree  of  fever.  And  therefore 
he  begged  them  to  dispatch  to  him  a  faithful 
Tartar,  by  whom  he  promised  to  send  the  med- 
icine. 

"Thou  givest  me  bitter  drugs,"  said  Kara- 
Katcha  ill-temperedly  ;  "  but  my  bride,  the  fair 
est  flower  of  my  garden,  thou  jugglest 
from  under  my  nose 


court  physician  ;  that  he  rather  counselled  ihera^- 
to  entreat  the  leech  to  yield  up  his  bride  in  the 
Tsarevitch's  favour.  And  he  turned  to  Antony 
with  a  prayer  not  to  irritate  the  Tartars,  and  to 
promise  to  give  way  just  for  the  moment. 
"  The  accursed  Tartar  whelp,"  he  said,  "  would, 
ay  j  soon  be  well,  and  all  would  be  right  again  ! 
But  Karakatcha  would  not  listen  to  hira. 


He 


"What  bride  V  asked  .\ntony  embarrassed,!  became  furious,  he  stamped,  he  tore  his  hair, 
as  if  he  had  not  understood  to  whom  he  alluded.  •  by  which  the  bandages  were  displaced,  and  the^ 

"  What  bride  1     Obrazetz's  daughter  !     She   blood  showed  itself;  convulsions  began  to  shake 
is  betrothed  tome.     She  was  promised  to  me  I  him.     The  father  was  terrified, 
by  Ivan  Vassilicvitch  himself     Thou  shalt  give  [      "  The  leech  is  a  sorcerer  ;  he  hath  brought 
her  up  whether  thou  wilt  or  no."  back  my  son's  disease,  in  order  to  avenge  him- 

Aniony  laughed,  as  he  would  have  laughed    self  about  the  maiden,"  thought  Danyar,  and 


at  the  request  of  a  child  who  had  begged  for  the 
moon  from  the  sky. 

"  Father,  give  him  a  handful  of  silver — ^let 
him  yield  by  fair  means." 

Danyar  was  about  to  depart  to  perform  his 
son's  will. 

This  had  now  gone  beyond  a  joke.  The  idea 
of  selling  his  bride  irritated  Antony.  He  de- 
tained the  old  man,  and  said  to  him  with  dis- 
pleasure— " 'Tis  a  vain  trouble,  Tsarevitch. 
Heap  up  piles  of  thy  silver  till  it  is  equal  to  the 
palace  of  the  Great  Prince,  and  then  I  will  not 
exchange  my  bride  for  it." 

"  Kaiakatcheuka  is  in  love  with  her;  yield, 
leech  !" 

"  I  am  myself  in  love  with  her,"  cried  Antony 
ironically  ;  "  I  woukl  not  give  her  up  for  an  em- 
pire." , 

"  We  will  take  her  by  force !"  cried  Danyar, 
firing  up. 

"  We  will  take  her  by  force  I"  repeated  Ka- 
rakatcha, rising  from  the  bed. 

"  To  do  that,  no  force  on  earth  is  sufficient. 
Remember,  you  are  not  at  Kasimoff." 

"  My  Kasimoff  is  there,  where  I  am  with  my 
band,"  said  Danyar :  "  even  in  Moscow  I  am 
still  Tsarevitch.  If  that  is  not  enough,  I  will 
obtain  a  paper  giving  me  the  maiden,  from  my  j 
good  friend  Ivan  Vassilievitch." 

"  The  Great  Prince  hath  promised  me  any 
boyarin's  daughter  for  the  cure  of  thy  son.  Thy 
son  is  well,  and  I  choose  the  daughter  of  Obra- 
zetz." 

"  My  son  would  have  been  well  without  thee. 
VVc  called  thee  in  only  to  pleasure  Ivan  Vassilie- 
vitch." 

"Why  chaffer  with  him  so  long,  father?" 
cried  Karakatcha.     "  I  am  well ;  I  want  him  no 


threw  himself  at  .A.ntony"s  feet,  imploring  him 
to  save  Karakatcheuka,  and  swearing  that  he 
would  never  agiin  attempt  to  obtain  his  bride. 

Thus  do  savages  rush,  in  their  passions,  Iroin 
one  extreme  to  the  other  ! 

Was  it  possible  for  .\ntony  to  be  angry  with 
such  savages  ;  the  rather  as  in  the  recovery  of 
the  Tsarevitch  was  involved  all  that  was  dear- 
est to  him  in  the  world — Anastasia.  his  life,  his 
honour?  He  hastened  to  afford  assistance  to 
Karakatcha,  and  soon  succeeded  in  relieving 
him. 

The  strong  constitution  of  the  Tartar,  assist- 
ed by  medicine,  again  set  him  on  his  legs  ;  so 
that  in  tw«  days'  time  he  was,  as  before,  laugh- 
ing heartily  at  the  jests  of  the  dvoretzkoi,  and 
giving  himself  up  to  the  innocent  amusements 
of  his  good  heart.  The  news  of  the  successful 
cure  reached  even  the  Great  Prince. 

With  the  leech  a  peace  was  concluded,  which 
Danyar  did  not  infringe  by  the  slightest  attempt. 
The  .\lraayne  sorcerer  had  conjured  back  the 
sickness,  and  had  as  soon  healed  it  again  :  how 
was  it  possible  not  to  fear  and  respect  him! 
But  the  darling  son,  probably  at  the  dvoretzkoi's 
instigation,  again  took  it  into  his  head  to  make 
his  demands  on  Anastasia. 

"  Cease  this  folly,"  said  Antony  in  a  threat- 
ening voice,  "  or  it  will  be  worse  with  thee  than 
before.     I  will  convulse  thee  in  a  moment !" 

The  Tsarevitch  was  terrified  by  this  menace,, 
and  remained  dumb. 

On  the  same  day  Antony  had  sent  by  a  faith- 
ful servant,  a  Tartar,  a  new  medicine,  which 
he  thought  would  conclude  the  cure.  It  was- 
time  to  receive  the  prize  promised  by  the  Great 
Prince  ;  thc_revvard  for  which  he  had  suffered 
so  much. 


THE    HERETIC. 


141 


He  already  touched  the  goal  of  all  his  desires 
-and  prayers ;  his  foes  and  those  of  the  family 
of  Obrazetz  were  vanquished  ;  his  honour  and 
his  head,  redeemed  from  the  terrible  pledge  to 
which  the  word  of  Ivan  had  bound  them,  the 
hand  of  Anastasia  would  soon  rivet  his  ties  to 
fate  and  to  mankind.  No  man,  no  obstacle, 
could  contest  his  bliss  ;  even  his  conscience 
■was  silent,  to  give  him,  as  it  would  seem,  full 
freedom  to  revel  in  his  hopes.  The  kind  good 
■old  man  who  was  departed,  seemed  about  to 
<lraw  away  from  him  Anastasia's  heart  and 
thoughts.  They  had  hardly  been  able  to  tear 
lier  from  her  father's  grave  ;  but  in  the  space 
of  some  time  a  living  friend,  her  enchanter,  her 
plighted  husband,  again  took  up  all  her  thoughts 
and  feelings.  She  could  not  long  restrain  her- 
self from  seeing  him.  The  indulgent  nurse  ar- 
ranged for  them,  beneath  the  veil  of  an  autum- 
:ial  night,  at  the  wicket  of  the  court,  a  sweet,  a 
maddening  interview.  With  Anastasia's  broth- 
er Antony's  friendship  grew  stronger  and  strong- 
er. Thus  near  was  the  pinnacle  of  his  happi- 
ness.  An  autumnal  twilight  was  thickening 

over  the  city.  In  the  izba  of  the  Tsarevitch 
Danyar  all  was  buried  in  profound  sleep.  Kar- 
akatcha  slumbered,  his  father  did  so  too  ;  in  the 
seighbouring  chamber  the  Tartars  were  follow- 
ing the  e.vample  of  their  lords  :  all  were  hoarse- 
ly snoring  to  such  a  pitch,  that  the  listener 
-would  have  needed  strong  ears  not  to  be  driven 
out  of  the  house.  Yet  in  the  chamber  of  Kara- 
katcha  there  loas  a  listener,  to  whom  this  mu- 
sic was  far  sweeter  than  all  the  harmonies  of 
earth.  He  lay  upon  a  bench,  and  pretended  to 
>be  asleep  ;  I  say,  pretended,  because  he,  in  the 
midst  of  the  most  furious  accompaniment,  arose 
from  the  bench,  and  cautiously,  hardly  breath- 
ing, began  to  steal  across  the  room  to  a  shelf, 
over  the  very  ear  of  Danyar.  The  old  Tsare- 
vitch, like  the  serpent  of  the  mountain  in  the 
fairy  tale,  kept  there  the  water  of  life  for  his 
son.  Profiting  by  his  slumber,  the  man  who 
had  glided  up  to  the  shelf,  with  one  hand  took 
something  that  stood  on  it,  and  with  the  other 
deposited  something  in  the  place  of  the  object 
he  had  stolen.  Having  done  this,  he  returned 
ifo  his  bench,  stretched  himself  again  upon  it, 
and  again  began  to  snore  as  though  nothing  had 
happened. 

Danyar  awoke  first,  and  ordered  an  attend- 
ant to  give  him  a  candle.  When  this  was 
done,  he  with  difficulty  managed  to  awake 
Roussalka,  who  was  sleeping  on  the  bench. 
Than  the  young  Tsarevitch  awoke  also. 

"  It  is  time  for  Karakatcheuka's  physic,"  said 
Danyar,  taking  the  phial  from  the  shelf. 

From  the  moment  he  observed  that  the  med- 
icine evidently  relieved  his  son  from  the  last 
attack,  he  had  with  the  greatest  punctuality 
followed  the  directions  of  Antony.  On  the  pres- 
ent day,  he  had  received  fresh  orders  to  begin 
the  phial  that  had  been  sent  as  soon  as  the  fires 
■were  lighted  in  the  houses ;  and  therefore  the 
old  Tsarevitch  hastened  not  to  let  pass  the  time 
fixed  for  the  dose. 

"  Eh  !"  exclaimed  Roussalka,  "  I  would  long 
ago  have  thrown  all  the  phials  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  now  more  than  ever.  Methought 
the  leech  had  a  kind  of  look  that"  .... 

"  Scare  him  not,  dvoretzkoi,"  cried  Danyar  ; 
"  as  it  is,  thou  makest  my  child  angry.     Drink 


it  up,  Karakatcheuka  ;  hearken  not  to  him  .  . 
.  .  the  leech  said  it  would  be  sweet  .  .  .  .  foi 
the  last  time"  .... 

And  Karakatcha,  himself  afraid  of  disobeying 
the  all-powerful  physician,  drank  from  a  silver 
cup  a  liquid  that  had  been  poured  into  it.  The 
draught  seemed  exceedingly  grateful,  and  he 
asked  for  more.  "  Give  me  more  ....  The 
leech  said,  that  if  I  drank  it  all  up,  so  much  the 
better!" 

There  was  one  man  in  the  chamber  who 
changed  countenance — namely,  Roussalka.  No 
one  remarked  his  confusion.  He  soon  recov- 
ered himself,  and  applied  himself  to  amuse  the 
young  Tsarevitch  with  buffi)onery,  which  he 
again  commenced.  All  were  merry  ;  Karakat- 
cha more  than  the  rest.  But  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  did  not  pass,  before  he  began  to  complain 
of  a  pain  in  his  stomach  and  breast  ....  His 
lips  turned  blue,  his  face  became  at  one  mo- 
ment red,  at  another  deadly  pale.  At  first  he 
groaned,  then  his  groans  were  succeeded  by 
shrieks  ....  They  sent  for  the  leech.  The 
messenger  returned  with  the  answer  that  he 
was  not  at  home.  Fresh  couriers  were  dis- 
patched in  various  directions  to  seek  for  him. 
The  dvoretzkoi  offered  himself  for  this  service 
— only  then,  when  he  saw  that  the  Tsarevitch 
was  dying. 

They  dissevered  the  leech  at  last  ....  Poor, 
unhappy  Antony  !  He  found  the  Tsarevitch  a 
corpse. 

Danyar  was  lying  insensible  on  his  son's 
body  ;  he  saw  not  the  leech,  or  he  would  have 
slain  him.  The  Tartars  were  about  to  rush  at 
Antony,  but  he  was  saved  by  the  constables, 
already  sent  with  orders  from  the  Great  Prince 
to  take  him  in  custody  and  put  him  in  chains. 
Antony  did  not  resist  them  ;  he  knew  that  his 
fate  was  decided  ;  he  understood  Ivan  Vassilie- 
vitch,  and  be  remembered  that  the  word  of  the 
terrible  ruler  would  not  pass  by  in  vain.  Though 
innocent,  he  must  bow  his  head  beneath  the 
axe  of  the  executioner. 

The  following  is  the  manner  how,  and  the 
person  from  whom,  Ivan  Vassilievitch  received 
the  first  tidings  of  the  Tsarevitch's  death  : 

Roussalka,  instead  of  going  to  seek  the  leech, 
as  he  pretended,  galloped  straight  to  the  palace 
of  the  Great  prince. 

"  My  Lord  Great  Prince,"  said  he,  entering 
Ivan  Vassilievitch's  sleeping-chamber,  and 
trembling  all  over  ;  "  I  bring  thee  evil  tidings." 

"What  —  a  fire!  My  horse!"  cried  the 
Great  Prince,  who  on  such  occasions  always 
repaired  to  the  spot  himself  to  extinguish  the 
conflagration,  even  though  it  took  place  at  mid- 
night. 

"  No,  my  lord,  the  Tsarevitch  Karakatcha  . 
.  .  .  is  dead." 

The  Great  Prince  turned  pale  and  crossed 
himself. 

"Dead!  ....  I  cannot  be!  Karakatcha  was 
well  to-day  ....  the  leech  said.  Thou  liest, 
or  thou  art  mad  !" 

"  It  is  true,  my  lord.  Order  enquiry  to  be 
made.  The  dear  boy  was  quite  well.  He  eat 
to-day  well,  slept  sound,  played  with  me  .... 
But  ....  he  had  a  (piarrel  with  Antony  the 
leech  about  his  bride,  Obrazetz's  daughter  .... 
and  Antony  sent  him  poison  ....  killed  him 
for  a  jest.     I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  how  the 


142 


THE   HERETIC. 


My 


poor  Tsarevitch  wis  tortured  in  departing 
heart  was  torn  with  pity." 

"  Killed  !  ....  for  a  jest  1"  .  .  .  .  cried  Ivan 
Vassilievitch,  frantic  with  rage.  "My  word  is 
pledged  ....  Thou  heard'st  it !  .  .  .  .  Hath 
he  then  two  heads  !  ....  In  fetters  with  him, 
to  the  prison  !  ....  He  shall  die  a  hungry 
death  !".... 

He  could  not  utter  a  word  more  ;  his  eyes 
glared,  foam  was  on  his  hps.  Then  calming 
himself  a  little,  he  shook  his  head  and  burst 
into  tears.  "  I  promised  to  Danyar  to  cure  his 
son  !"  he  continued.  "  He  had  but  one — one 
child  ;  but  one  comfort  for  his  old  age  !  I  have 
paid  him  well  for  his  faithful  service  !  ....  It , 
was  not  for  nothing  that  the  father  opposed  his 
being  treated  !  .  .  .  .  No,  I  had  to  persuade  him  ! 
....  Killed  him  for  a  jest!  ....  Rasping  to 
death  is  too  little  I  .  .  .  .  Burning  on  a  slow  fire 
too  little !  ....  I  will  give  him  up  to  the  Tar- 
tars, to  be  tormented,  to  be  sported  with  .... 
let  them  do  what  they  will  with  him !  .  .  .  . 
And  in  the  other  world  he  shall  remember  my 
\vord." 

Then  he  made  him  repeat  how  Antony  had 
quarrelled  about  the  daughter  of  Obrazetz ; 
when  and  by  whom  the  poison  was  sent ; 
whether  it  soon  began  to  torment  the  Tsare- 
vitch  after  he  had  taken  it.  Roussalka  repeat- 
ed the  whole,  artfully  interweaving  in  his  tale 
Antony's  former  dispute  w  ith  the  Tsarevitch  ; 
how  he,  the  dvorelzkoi,  had  parted  them  ;  how 
the  leech  had  threatened  that  day  to  repay  Ka- 
rakatcha  more  bitterly  than  before  ;  how  he  had 
ordered  the  father  to  give  him  the  poison  to 
drink,  even  all  at  one  dose — saying,  "  it  will  be 
sweet  ....  for  the  last  time,"  and  that  his 
face  had  darkened  as  he  said  so.  He  had  not 
brought  the  poison  himself,  as  on  former  occa- 
sions, but  had  sent  it  by  a  Tartar,  in  order  that 
he  might  have  the  excuse  that  wicked  people 
had  changed  it.  "  I  advised  the  father,"  con- 
tinued Roussalka,  "  I  entreated  him  not  to  give 
the  medicine ;  but  no,  he  gave  it,  as  though  he 
were  out  of  his  senses,  as  if  he  had  eaten  of  the 

insane  root Plainly,  he  was  compelled 

by  the  Evil  One." 

When  he  had  heard  all  this  malicious  tale, 
the  Great  Prince  repeated  the  strictest  orders 
to  keep  .\ntony  in  the  prison,  in  irons,  till  he 
should  deliver  him  up  to  the  Tartars  to  torture 
and  make  sport  with  him.  He  was  about  to 
order  Anastasia  to  be  shut  up  in  a  monastery, 
but  he  changed  his  intention.  Probably  he 
called  to  mind  the  services  of  her  father  and 
brother. — "  The  maiden  is  innocent,"  he  said, 
and  commanded  them  to  change  the  order. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    PRISON. 
"  I  was  all  full  of  hope  and  joy  :  I  dreamM 
That  iiu  sail  parting  day,  no  future  hour  of  sadness, 
Would  t\cT  romc  upon  nie.    Tears,  and  hale,  and  madness 
TrcuKon  uiul  raluniny— a  black  and  Tenffefiil  AihkI — 
Mream'd  suildmi  on  my  head  !  where  was  I  .'  where?    1  stood 
].ik(i  imvvller,  liKhlniiiK-biostod  in  the  desert, 
And  all  was  d:irk  around  me."— I'ousiiKlN. 

Wb  are  already  acquainted  with  the  prison 
In  th«!  very  same  division  of  the  Black  Izba  in 
which  had  been  imprisoned  first  Ma/iphas,  the 
interpreter  of  the  Prince  Loukomskii,  and  then 


the  posadnitza  Marpha,  Antony  was  confined. 
Yesterday  he  was  free,  with  new  pledges  of  love 
and  friendship,  almost  at  the  summit  of  happi- 
ness  ;  and  to-day  in  chains,  deprived  of  all  hope, 
he  was  awaiting  death  as  his  only  relief  He 
had  entreated  ihem  to  examine  into  the  affair 
of  theTsareviich's  illness — it  was  refused  ;  his- 
crime,  they  cried,  was  as  clear  as  day. 

"  O  God,  thou  alone  art  left  me  !"  he  said  be- 
dewing his  fetters  with  his  tears  ;  "  I  rebel  not 
against  thy  will.  Perhaps  thou  wiliest  to  pun- 
ish me  for  leaving  my  faith,  which  I  did  not  ac- 
count a  transgression  ;  perhaps  thou  chastiseth 
me  in  love  for  me  ...  .  Who  can  tell  what 
bitterness  might  have  poisoned  my  future  life  ! 
Now  I  drink  my  cup  alone,  and  then  I  might 
have  had  to  share  it  with  a  wife,  with  children 
.  .  I  should  have  doubly  suffered,  beholding 
their  sufferings.  I  know  that  Anastasia  loveth 
me  ;  but  at  her  age  impressions  are  so  transient 
.  .  She  may  live  long  ....  she  will  lament 
and  weep  awhile  for  the  heretic,  and  then  she 
will  cease  ....  What  cannot  lime  perform  ? 
.  .  .  .  Nevertheless  it  is  very  bitter  to  leave  her  all 
that  she  gave,  and  all  that  she  promised  me. 
....  If  she  love  me  truly,  with  a  love  not  of 
this  world,  then  we  shall  soon  meet  again  ;  if 
God  hath  joined  our  souls,  man  shall  not  sunder 
us.  But  to  one  dying  to  this  world,  what  are 
these  desires  ?  .  .  .  .  She  is  so  young,  so  beau- 
tiful, so  made  for  happiness  !  .  .  .  .  O  Lord  I 
vouchsafe  that  she  may  be  blessed  by  the  joys, 
the  triumphs  of  love,  the  happiness  ot  wife,  of 
mother — all  the  blessings  of  existence  ;  vouch- 
safe to  her  all  that  thou  takest  from  me  in  the 
fairest  years  of  life  ;  grant  me  but  in  one  of  thy 
mansions  to  rejoice  in  her  happiness  !  .  .  .  . 
O  Lord,  Father  of  Creation  !  what  wilt  thou  do 
with  my  mother  ?  What  will  become  of  her 
when  she  learns  my  imprisonment,  my  ignomin- 
ious death  ! One  thing  I  beseech  thee 

for  her  sake  ;  so  do,  that  till  the  end  of  her  life" 
she  may  not  hear  of  the  terrible  change  in  my 
destiny — that  she  may  think  uie  still  alive  and 
happy  !  Deny  me  not,  my  God — thou,  who 
thyself  calledst  me  to  this  world,  and  art  now 
about  to  summon  me  into  another — that  even 
there  I  may  be  consoled  for  my  earthly  sorrows 
by  the  peace  of  my  mother." 

In  such  meditations  Antony  passed  days  and 
nights,  nor  did  he  forget  his  old  instructor  in 
his  prayers ;  but,  knowing  the  tirmness  of  his 
soul,  this  knowledge  softened  his  remembrance 
of  him.  Sometimes,  forgetting  himself,  he  still 
thought  of  his  future  life  on  earth  ;  of  the  bliss 
of  loving,  of  the  heavenly  days  promised  by  his 
union  with  Anastasia  :  sometimes  he  fancied, 
as  in  a  dream,  that  all  around  him  was  a  vision, 
a  phantasm.  But  he  was  soon  awakened  from 
this  enchantment  by  the  cold  weight  and  clink- 
ing of  his  chains,  by  the  iron-barred  window, 
in  which  the  light  hardly  penetrated  thrwugli 
the  panes  of  bladder  into  the  stench  and  tilth  of 
his  cage.  On  the  wall  were  rudely  scratched 
the  names  of  his  predecessors  there — Maiheas, 
Marpha,  the  posadnitza  of  Novgorod  the  Great. 
What  had  been  the  fate  of  ihe.sc !  .  .  .  .  One 
was  burned  alive  in  an  iron  cage,  the  other  had 
pined  away  in  his  dungeon.  Could  he  have 
thought,  when  he  arrived  in  .Moscow  a  few 
months  back,  and  beheld  the  flames  devouring 
the  unhappy  Lithuanians,  that  the  same  fate  was 


THE    HERETIC. 


143 


to  fall  upon  himself!  Could  he  have  imagined, 
when  he  visited  the  black  izba  in  the  courtly  train 
of  I  van,  honoured  with  hjs  particular  notice  and 
distinguished  favour — as  it  were,  hand  in  hand 
with  him — that  he  would  be  shut  up  in  the  very 
same  cell  vviiere  he  had  been  so  shocked  by  the 
sufferings  of  the  posadnitza  of  Novgorod  I  Oh, 
if  vain  illusions  had  not  obscured  his  reason,  he 
might  have  seen  what  he  had  to  expect  in  a 
coimtry  where  ignorance  and  prejudice  had  ex- 
cluded him  from  the  community  of  Christians, 
and  numbered  him  among  the  children  of  Satan  ! 
Had  he  not  seen  the  Prince  Kholmskoi  himself, 
the  ornament  and  glory  of  his  country,  save 
himself  from  the  block  by  hiding  his  head  be- 
neath the  shield  of  accident,  in  his  chamber — 
the  chamber  of  a  foreigner?  Had  he  not  been 
warned  by  the  frightful  fate  of  the  Prince  of 
Ouglitch,  the  Great  Prince's  own  brother,  who 
had  been  invited  by  him  to  the  friendly  board, 
and  borne  along  to  a  dungeon,  where  at  that 
very  moment  he  was  withering  away  1  Next 
to  him,  behind  the  partition-wall  of  his  cell, 
were  heard  sighs  and  groanings  :  were  they  not 
the  groans  of  that  very  Prince  of  Ouglitch  1 
How  soon  had  he  shared  the  lot  of  that  suffer- 
er I  ...  .  Poor  Antony,  he  had  no  ears  to  hear, 
IK)  eyes  to  see ;  he  had  lost  his  powers  of  rea- 
.son  !  Passion  had  blinded  him  to  all.  But, 
nevertheless,  if  he  had  again  to  begin  his  life  in 
Russia,  knowing  that  it  must  finish  as  it  would 
finish  now,  he  would  again  have  chosen  to  meet 
with  Anastasia,  to  repeat  the  torments  and  the 
bliss  of  the  last  few  months,  and  then  to  die — 
even  a  death  of  ignominy.  He  had  already  en- 
joyed blessings  such  as  a  mortal  can  but  once 
enjoy  on  earth  ;  he  had  already  received  from 
her  a  precious  tribute,  such  as  it  is  the  lot  of 
few  on  earth  to  share  ;  h-e  had  received  his  part 
on  earth — what  could  he  hope  morel  The 
Lord  plainly  loved  him,  for  he  would  call  him  to 
himself  at  the  brightest  moment  of  existence. 
0,  that  (here  he  might  find  a  continuation  of 
past  moments  of  bliss  !  .  .  .  . 

To  the  hopes  and  consolations  which  flutter- 
ed over  the  whirlpool  of  his  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings, was  superadded  one  deep  source  of  joy  : 
Fate  had  preserved  him,  even  against  his  will, 
from  renouncing  his  religion  ....  he  would 
die  in  the  faith  of  his  fathers.  But  even  this 
alleviation  was  of  short  continuance.  He  was 
overwhelmed  by  the  bitter  thought,  that  Anas- 
tasia, after  his  death,  would  estrange  her  heart 
from  the  heretic,  would  not  visit  the  grave  of  a 
Latiner ;  and  perhaps  a  necromancer,  the  ser- 
vant of  the  Evil  One,  would  again  in  her 
thoughts  replace  Antony,  her  plighted  husband. 
They  would  cast  out  his  corpse  into  the  forest 
or  the  swamp,  a  prey  for  the  ravens.  This 
thought  so  completely  possessed  him,  that  it 
became  his  only  desire  to  have  a  Russian 
priest,  w1)o  might  guide  him  on  the  path  to  an- 
ether  world,  in  the  name  and  with  the  authority 
of  the  Saviour.  What  sufferings  had  not  his 
FOul  encountered  in  the  first  days  of  his  impris- 
onment !  I  will  not  speak  of  his  physical  pri- 
vations. Every  day  they  diminished  his  food  : 
at  last  they  began  to  give  him  dry  bread  by 
morsels,  or  water  by  jugs.  His  table  was  strict- 
ly watched  by  the  dvoretzkoi  of  the  Great  Prince. 
Privations  of  this  kind  he  bore  with  firmness  ; 
but  what  more  than  all  tormented  him  was  his 


uncertainty  about  his  friends,  and  about  Anas^^ 
tasia.  0,  for  the  consolation  of  knowing  that 
they  were  thinking  of  him  !  O,  for  one  word 
of  tidings  from  them  !  To  prisoners  under  cap- 
ital sentence  it  was  forbidden  to  admit  any  pe»- 
son  whatever,  except  those  who  were  to  take- 
charge  of  them  during  their  confinement.  Bufc 
the  will  of  man,  in  union  with  intellect  or  love,. 
is  stronger  than  bars  or  fetters,  more  sharp- 
sighted  than  any  Argus. 

On  the  Feast  of  the  Protection  of  the  Virgin, 
through  the  grating  of  his  cell,  from  the  passage 
of  the  prison,  the  withered  arm  of  a  woman 
threw  him  a  Kalalch*  The  bread  had  been 
broken.  Antony  took  it  up,  and  what  did  he 
seel  In  this  present  was  concealed  a  treasure 
— Anastasia's  crucifix  !  He  could  not  but  rec-- 
ognise  it.  The  cross  was  covered  with  his 
burning  kisses,  bedewed  with  his  tears,  and 
hastily  concealed  in  his  bosom,  deep,  deep,  a-t 
his  heart,  God  forbid,  that  his  guards  should 
see  his  sacred  companion,  and  take  it  from 
him  !  Rather  death  itself  Now  Antony  is  no 
longer  alone  ;  with  him  was  his  Saviour  dying 
on  the  cross  ;  with  him  she,  his  bride,  his  wife 
in  this  world  and  the  next.  She  was  again 
plighted  to  him  for  ever  .... 

To  add  to  his  happiness,  on  the  following 
night  he  was  visited  by  Keuritzin,  who  had 
found  access  to  the  prison  by  a  golden — an 
all-powerful  key,  under  the  protection  of  offi- 
cers devoted  to  him.  He  remembered  well,, 
and  was  eager  to  perform  the  commands  of  his 
instructor  Shkaria,  and  he  brought  what  was 
calculated  to  fortify  both  the  body  and  soul  of 
the  prisoner.  Food,  more  plentiful  and  palata- 
ble, materials  for  writing,  in  case  of  his  being 
able  to  correspond  with  his  friends  at  a  favour- 
able opportunity,  news  of  those  concerning 
whom  the  unfortunate  prisoner  was  most  anx- 
ious to  hear,  and  hopes  of  mollifying  the 
Great  Prince — this  is  what  the  great  Kouritzin 
brought  him.  Antony  placed  but  little  confi- 
dence in  the  hopes  ;  hut  the  sympathy  and  love 
of  his  friends  repaid  him  for  all  his  past  suffer- 
ings— "  In  prison,  in  misfortune,  it  is  now  that 
I  feel  the  true  value  of  friendship,  of  love,"  said 
he  to  the  deacon  ;  "  can  I  murmur,  after  all  that 
the  Lord  hath  vouchsafed  to  me,  can  I  complain 
of  my  fate  1  There,  next  to  me,  is  a  crowned 
Prince,  but — dost  thou  hear  his  groans  \  .  .  .  . 
he  is  wasting  away,  deserted  by  all !  .  .  .  . 
With  the  treasure  which  thou  hast  brought  me, 
I  can  die  without  a  murmur  ;  in  the  last  mo- 
ment of  my  life  I  must  bless  him  who  guides  me 
on  my  path,  and  kiss  the  hand  that  leads  me  to 
it."  How  fervently  did  AntOny  thank  his  noc- 
turnal visitor  for  having  furnished  him  with 
materials  for  writing !  He  implored  him  as  one 
last  favour,  to  visit  him  once  more,  and  receive- 
from  him  some  letters  for  his  mother. 

"  The  good  Zakharia  will  enable  them  to  reach 
her,  if  thou  cast  find  an  opportunity  of  sending^ 
them  to  him,"  said  the  prisoner.  "  And  for 
this,  in  the  other  world,  at  the  throne  of  God,  I 
will  pray  for  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  If  thoa 
see'st  Zakharia,  tell  him  that  I,  before  my  death,, 
thanked  him  with  my  tears  ;  and  that  I  will  not 
forget  him  en  high."     And  he  devoted  all  the 


*  Kalatch,  a  species  of  very  fine  white  bre.id  or  roll,  pecu- 
liar to  Moscow.  They  are  generally  eaten  hot,  and  are  de- 
licious ;  experto  crede—T.  B.  S. 


1« 


THE    HERETIC. 


hours,  during  which  he  could  conceal  himself 
from  the  watchful  eyes  of  guards,  to  the  duty  af 
^vriiing  a  number  of  letters  to  his  mother.  These 
letters  bote  different  dales,  and  might  serve  for 
-a  year  or  two.  In  them  Antony  represented 
his  happy  life  with  a  lovely  and  adored  wife, 
the  favour  of  the  sovereign,  the  hope  of  one  day 
\isiting  Bohemia  with  the  Russian  Embassy — 
all,  all  that  he  could  invent  for  the  consolation 
of  his  mother.  His  soul  was  agonized  ;  he 
swallowed  his  tears,  that  they  might  not  fall 
■upon  the  paper  on  which  he  was  tracing  lines 
Avhere  all  were  false  except  the  assurances  of 
filial  love. 

With  what  rapture  did  not  Poppel  and  Mamon 
triumph  in  their  victory  !  The  first  was  over- 
joyed at  having  rid  himself  of  a  man  who  was 
formidable  to  his  uncle,  and  whom  he  himself 
Jiated  for  his  family  resemblance,  for  his  physi- 
ognomy, for  his  external  and  mental  merits,  and 
«till  more  from  some  obscure  and  unintelligible 
feeling  of  aversion.  The  secret  voice  of  his 
heart  had,  it  iscertain,  always  armed  him  against 
JVntony  Ehrenstein  ....  But  Mamon  !  Se- 
verely wounded,  disfigured  for  life,  he  revived 
-again  as  if  be  hail  been  sprinkled  with  the  Water 
of  Life.  Me  called  to  him  his  domestic  spectre, 
■who  presented  himself  before  him,  as  if  from 
the  grave,  only  to  hear  the  joyful  news  of  some 
misfortune. 

"  Hast  thou  heard  V  said  he  tohts  son  ;  "  thy 
fair  bridegroom — thou  knowest  ....  the  Al- 
■mayne  Antony,  has  been  cast  into  the  black 
izba ;  his  head  is  not  firm  on  his  shoulders. 
Ha  !  said  I  not  so  ]  The  daughter  of  Obrazetz 
-shall  never  wed.  It  shall  never  be— never  be  ! 
....  Who  will  take  her  after  a  heretic  ]  .  .  .  . 
Kejoice,  my  fair  Lord  Khabar-Siniskoi,  in  thy 
.stone  palace  !  Kejoice,  and  thy  father  too,  in 
his  earth  hole  !  Dost  thou  hear  my  friend,  Vas- 
silii  Feodorovitch  ]  We  will  bow  to  thee  for 
this  bread  and  salt ;  we  will  thank  thee  for  this 
sweet  intoxicating  mead.  'Twill  give  a  fillip 
to  thy  nose  even  under  thy  brocade  winding- 
sheet !"  ....  (And  Mamon  laughed  a  hellish 
laugh.)  "  Wherefore  speak'st  thou  not,  my 
son  !" 

Like  a  dweller  in  another  world,  giving  note 
•of  his  presence  among  the  living  only  by  break- 
ing the  rottenness  of  the  grave,  the  younger 
Mamon  expressed  on  his  countenance  neither 
joy  nor  sorrow.  As  usual,  his  reply  to  his  fa- 
ther's exultation  was  the  hollow  cough  presage- 
ful  of  the  tomb 

"  Why  dost  thou  not  speak  1"  repealed  the 
elder  Maimii). 

"  Father,  I  am  dying  !"  piteously  exclaimed 
liis  son. 

"  Die,  then— but  die  rejoicing  thai  they  have 
avenged  thee  on  thy  foe  !" 

Suspecting  nothing,  knowing  nothing.  Anas- 
lasia  thouglit  only  of  the  raptures  of  love.  Even 
X\n:  memory  of  her  father  visited  her — as  a  sweet 
•vision,  ll  was  not  as  a  corpse  in  the  grave  that 
she  miaged  him  to  herself,  but  alive— with  a 
smile,  a  blessing  ;  as  if  he  were  saying—"  Thou 
see'sl,  Nastia,  I  guessed  thou  lovest  Antony  ; 
live  happy— the  blessing  of  <jod  be  with  ye  !" 
Kind  father  ;  ho  is  now  rejoicing  among  the 
angels,  and  delighling  in  the  welfare  of  his  chil- 
xlren  ! 

At  this  very  moment  tlie  nurse,  crying,  weep- 


ing as  if  over  a  corpse,  fell  at  her  foster-daugh- 
ter's feet.  "  What  hath  happened  1"  enquired 
Anastasia,  terrified. 

"  Ah,  my  child,  thou  full  of  sorrows !"  whined 
the  nurse  ;  "  they  have  cast  thy  bridegroom  into 
the  black  izba  ;  he  was  treating  the  young  Tar- 
tar Tsarcviich,  and  he  killed  him.  He  must  lose 
his  head." 

The  blow  was  unexpected.  Anastasia  trem- 
bled and  turned  pale  as  death.  Without  utter- 
ing a  word,  she  fell  into  a  kind  of  deep  reverie, 
fixing  her  'eyes  on  one  object.  She  seemed 
turned  to  stone  in  her  deep  thought,  and  looked 
like  the  sculptured  emblem  of  grief  The  nurse 
implored  her  to  return  to  herself — even  shook 
her  ;  she  remained  still  in  her  former  attitude. 
Suddenly  her  eyes  flashed  out  a  strange  unnatu- 
ral light ;  she  turned  them  wildly  around,  laugh- 
ed convulsively,  and  cried — "  They  have  taught 
thee  to  say  this  to  mock  me  ;  nay,  deceive  me 
not !  ....  In  spite  of  ye,  ye  shall  not  part  me 
from  Antony  :  he  is  my  plighted  lord — my  love !" 
.  .  .  .  Then  again  she  began  to  think,  and  fell 
into  her  former  stony  immobility.  The  nurse 
was  frightened.  WHiom  could  she  call  ? — the 
powers  of  heaven  and  the  old  wise  women. 
They  muttered  charms  over  her  ;  they  sprinkled 
her;  they  read  prayers — nothing  did  any  good. 
They  were  about  to  fumigate  her,  to  beat  her 
with  a  nail,  to  apply  fire  to  the  soles  of  her  feet 
— with  great  difficulty  she  came  to  herself. 

Her  brother  arrived.  Anastasia  knew  him, 
and  threw  herself,  weeping,  on  his  neck.  "  Thou 
aft  my  dear,  my  own  brother  !"  was  all  siie 
could  sob  out.  She  did  not  dare  to  pronounce 
her  bridegroom's  name,  much  less  to  ask  about 
him ;  maiden  bashfulness,  and  more  than  all, 
stern  custom,  forbade  her  to  speak  of  what  was 
swelling  at  her  heart.  She,  a  maiden,  was  only 
permitted  to  weep  for  a  father  or  a  brother  ; 
tears  consecrated  to  any  other  man,  even  to  a 
bridegroom,  were  counted  a  crime.  But  in 
these  few  words  there  was  so  much  misery,  so 
much  entreaty,  that  her  brother  could  not  but 
understand  about  whom  Anastasia  was  thus 
agonized. 

Khabar  ordered  the  nurse  and  all  the  other 
domestics  to  leave  the  chamber.  When  this 
was  done,  he  began  to  reprove  he^  for  giving 
way  to  such  despair  in  the  presence  of  others ; 
he  represented  to  her,  that  the  domestics  might 
conclude  unfavourably  of  her — •'  Is  it  bitter  to 
thee  ?  then  man  thy  heart.  Die  beneath  the 
lash,  but  be  still :  thus  hath  it  ever  been  with 
our  race,"  said  he  to  his  sister.  "  But  for  thee, 
a  maiden,  it  is  more  than  all  forbidden  to  lament 
tor  a  bridegroom  who  hath  not  yet  taken  our 
faith."  Having  made  this  paternal  remon- 
strance, he  began  to  caress  and  console  her. — 
"  There  is  hope  of  saving  Antony.  A  courier 
hath  been  sent  to  the  country  to  the  Prince 
Kholmskoi,  who  hath  reciuested  us,  in  case  of 
any  danger  to  Antony,  to  let  him  know  by  an 
express.  The  son  of  Kh6lmskoi  is  wedded  to 
the  Great  Prince's  daughter.  We  must  be  help- 
ed both  by  the  voevoda's  services  and  family 
ties  ....  Khabur's  own  horses  are  saddled. 
He  will  gallop  to  Tver  to  the  young  Prince  Ivan  : 
the  prince  loves  Antony,  and  w  ill  move  in  his 
favour.  The  Princess  Helena  of  Vallachia  prom- 
ises, whatever  it  may  cost,  to  save  the  unhap 
py  leech.     J'owerful  men  are  interested  for  him, 


THE  HERETIC. 


145 


Hie  favourite  of  Ivan  Vassflievitch,  the  deacon 
Kourilzin,  even  the  Primate  Zosimus.  The  lat- 
ter protects  Antony,  as  being  a  lamb  which  is 
now  likely  to  be  lost  to  the  flock  of  Christ.  Tlie 
refining-pot  is  just  prepared  to  purify  him,  and 
they  are  about  to  pluck  him  from  it,  and  hurl 
him  into  eternal  fire.  All  have  hope  of  soft- 
ening Ivan  Vassilievitch.  And  if  prayers,  in- 
terest, and  argument  cannot  succeed,  there  is 
yet  another  means"  .... 

This  is  what  the  brother  communicated  to  his 
sister ;  and  Anastasia,  convulsively  embracing 
him,  implored  him  to  gallop  swiftly  to  Tver.  In 
a  few  days — namely,  on  the  feast  of  the  Pro- 
tection of  the  Holy  Virgin— the  old  woman  who 
prepared  the  miserable  food  for  the  prisoners, 
had  thrown  the  German  in  his  dungeon  the  ka- 
latch :  we  know  already  what  it  contained. 
This  was  managed  by  Anastasia's  nurse.  What 
had  it  not  cost  the  daughter  of  Obrazetz  to  in- 
duce her  foster-mother  to  such  an  exploit ! 
Tears,  prostrations,  promises  of  rich  gifts  and 
favours  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  threats  of  sui- 
cide— all  was  employed  to  attain  her  object. 
She  felt  a  thousand  times  easier  when  she  was 
assured  of  the  fulfilment  of  her  wish.  The  pre- 
cious cross  was  on  Antony's  breast ;  it  would 
save  him. 

The  Prince  Kholmskoi  arrived  in  haste  ;  his 
entreaties  were  joined  to  those  of  his  daughter- 
in-law  —  the  daugher  of  the  Great  Prince,  the 
letters  of  Ivan  the  Young,  sent  by  Khabar,  of 
Helena,  of  the  Primate  ;  many  of  these  per- 
sons fell  at  the  feet  of  the  stern  ruler  —  all  was 
in  vain.  "  If  I  wished  it  myself  I  cannot  do  it," 
was  the  Great  Prince's  answer  to  them.  "  I 
have  given  my  word  to  Danyar,  my  friend  and 
servant ;  I  have  sworn  before  the  image  of  our 
Saviour.  Not  for  mine  own  son  would  I  go 
back." 

Aristotle  and  Andriousha  he  would  not  see. 
In  order  to  avoid  meeting  them  he  did  not  leave 
his  palace  for  several  days.  The  construction 
of  the  cathedral  was  stopped.  The  artist  or- 
dered the  Great  Prince  to  be  informed,  that  the 
'Church  would  not  be  finished  till  Antony  was 
■set  free,  that  it  was  only  at  Antony's  request 
thatvhe  had  begun  its  construction.  Ivan  Vas- 
silievitch's  sole  answer  was  a  gloomy  silence. 

In  the  meanwhile  they  assured  Anastasia 
that  all  was  going  well,  that  there  was  hope  .... 

The  friends  of  the  unfortunate  prisoner  never 
ceased,  however,  to  make  every  effort,  to  em- 
ploy every  means,  in  their  power  to  save  him. 
In  this  struggle  against  man  and  fate,  the  most 
active  was  the  son  of  Aristotle. 

It  was  sad  to  see  Andriousha  !  He  hardly 
ate,  or  drank  or  slept.  They  could  only  force 
him  to  strengthen  himself  with  food,  by  telling 
him  that  his  exertions  were  more  needed  by 
Antony  than  those  of  any  one  else.  He  did  no- 
thing but  wander  round  the  prison  of  his  friend, 
or  round  the  palace  of  the  Great  Prince.  Here 
he  watched  the  coming  out  of  Ivan  Vassilie- 
vitch, even  his  looking  out  from  a  window  ;  and 
once  he  did  look  out.  Then  the  boy  knelt 
down,  bowed  to  the  earth,  beat  his  breast,  and 
pointed  to  heaven,  to  the  temple  of  God,  to  his 
own  tears.  What  was  the  reply  of  Ivan  Vas- 
silievitch I     He  hastily  turned  away  his  head. 

Wandering  day  and  night  around  the  black 
izba,  like  some  passionate    lover   round  the 
K 


dwelling  of  his  mistress,  who  is  kept  by  a  stern 
father  or  cruel  guardian  under  bolt  and  bar, 
Andriousha  sometimes  fancied  that,  through  a 
crack  in  one  of  the  bladder  panes  of  the  dun- 
geon window,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dear, 
the  precious  prisoner.  The  crevice — he  began 
to  remark — grew  wider  and  wider  day  by  day. 
At  last  he  was  able  to  distinguish  through  it  the 
lineaments  of  the  face,  so  well  known  and  so 
beloved.  Then  what  a  moving,  eloquent  dia- 
logue he  carried  on  by  signs  with  his  friend ! 
And  who  would  have  cared  to  hinder  this  dia- 
logue !  Any  one  that  pleased,  might  wave  his 
head  before  the  black  izba,  in  sign  of  love  to 
any  of  the  prisoners,  since  not  a  hair's-breadth 
of  liberty  was  added  to  the  captive.  Less  than 
all  had  they  any  thing  to  fear  from  a  boy  ! 

And  could  the  good  Tveritchanin  fail  to  take 
a  lively  interest  in  Antony's  fate— Aphanasii, 
his  delighted  fellow-traveller  in  imagination 
over  the  Western  lands — his  svat  1  He  often 
accompanied  the  boy  in  his  secret  journeys, 
and  with  him  rejoiced  in  the  communication 
opened  with  the  dear  prisoner.  Andriousha 
succeeded,  standing  on  the  old  man's  shoul- 
ders, in  observing  through  the  window  of  the 
dungeon,  that  no  one  was  in  the  cell  except  the 
prisoner  himself  Then  he  ventured  to  thrust 
his  hand  through  the  iron  grating  and  the  crev- 
ice in  the  bladder  of  the  window,  making  him 
happy  with  a  friendly  pressure  of  the  hand,  and 
succeeded  in  saying  to  him—'-  To-morrow  is 
the  great  day  ...  •  expect  me."  He  had  no 
time  to  say  more,  and  heard  nothing  from  An- 
tony in  reply.  Some  one  entered  the  dungeon- 
Yes,  to-morrow  was  the  great  day  for  An- 
tony. His  friends  knew  that  the  old  Tartar 
Tsarevitch  had  recovered  from  the  frightful 
lethargy  with  which  his  son's  death  had  over- 
whelmed him,  and  that  he  was  ready  to  demand 
from  Ivan  Vassilievitch  an  exemplary  revenge 
for  his  boy's  head.  To-morrow,  at  all  hazards, 
his  victim  must  be  saved. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE    CATASTROPHE. 

"  The  dim  lamp  sleepily 
'Gan  pale  before  the  flush  of  morning  ; 
Into  the  dungeon  streani'd  the  morn.    The  Poet's  eye 
Raised  to  the  grate  a  glance  unshrinking— 
A  noise  !    They  come— they  call— 'Tis  they—Prepare  to 

die ! 
Hark !  bolt  and  bar  and  lock  is  clinking, 
They  call  .  .  .  O  stay,  O  stay  !    but  one  day— one  day 

more !"  ^    ,   .  ,^,  .    . 

PousHKiN — Andre  Chenier. 

"  The  great  day?'  ....  said  Antony  to  him- 
self "  Perhaps  the  day  of  pardon,  of  mercy  ! 
.  .  .  ,  Perhaps  of  death  !  .  .  .  .  More  likely  the 
latter.  The  sentences  of  Ivan  are  fatal ;  the 
thunderbolt,  in  falling  from  heaven,  turneth  not 
back.  Perhaps  my  friends  have  determined  on 
saving  me  !  But  how  1  With  what  sacrifices, 
under  what  conditions'!" 

"May  this  day  be  truly  great,"  said  he,  as  he 
awoke  in  the  morning,  and  begged  to  have  a 
priest. 

They  had  the  cruelty  to  refuse ;  or,  what  is 
the  same  thing,  they  answered  not. 

Kouritzin  came  not  for  the  letters.     What 


146 


THE   HERETIC, 


bad  hindered  him  1  He  would  not  deceive,  if 
there  had  heen  any  possibility  of  coming.  He 
would  undermine  the  foundations  of  the  prison  ; 
he  would  make  an  entrance  even  through  the 
chimney,  if  he  could  find  no  other  path.  Of  this 
Antony  was  convinced.  Was  it  not  then  the 
true  reason  of  his  absence,  that  there  was  yet 
hope  of  the  Great  Prince's  mercy  1  .  .  .  . 

Hope !  .  .  .  .  Great  God  !  how  did  his  heart 
beat  at  the  word,  his  blood  more  swiftly  rush 
through  his  veins  !  How,  at  the  word,  started 
they  from  the  gloom  all  the  dear  ones  with 
caresses,  with  all  the  gifts  of  life,  and  surround 
him  !  O,  stay,  remain  but  for  a  little,  beloved 
visions,  at  the  pillow  of  the  unhappy  ;  help  him 
to  forget  this  day  the  fetters,  the  black  izba,  the 
groans,  of  his  companions  in  captivity  ;  enchant 
him,  dear  guests,  with  your  caresses,  give  him 
yet  one  festival  on  earth,  perhaps  the  last,  on 
the  threshold  of  eternity  !  .  .  .  . 

No  !  they  had  come  but  for  a  moment,  and 
instantly  vanished,  driven  away  by  the  agony 
of  uncertainty. 

How  heavily  the  hours  dragged  on  till  evening! 

No  one  had  come.  Antony  is  watching  at 
the  window  .... 

He  listens  .  ...  no  one  !  All  is  still,  as  on 
the  confines  of  the  world. 

Involuntarily  he  glanced  at  the  wall  ....  By 
the  feeble  glimmer  of  the  night-lamp,  the  fatal 
names  of  the  wretches  whose  place  he  now  fill- 
ed in  the  dungeon,  and  who  had  already  vanish- 
ed from  the  earth,  started  from  the  gloom  and 
struck  upon  his  eye.  Eloquent,  grave  lines  ! 
And  wherefore  should  he  not  erect  also  a  simi- 
lar memorial  of  himself?  Perhaps  a  new  in- 
mate would  soon  inhabit  that  cell,  and  would 
read  in  his  turn  these  lines.  He  would  then  be 
not  alone,  he  would  surround  himself  with  the 
family  of  his  comrades  that  were  no  more,  and 
carry  on  with  them  a  dialogue  of  the  heart. 

Antony  found  a  nail,  and  scratched  upon 
the  wall  the  four  words  —  licbe  fHutter, 
licbc  53  ...  .  words  of  farewell  to  earth,  or, 
what  IS  the  same  thing,  to  those  who  were 
dearer  than  all  in  the  world.  When  he  had 
written  them  he  melted  into  tears,  as  if  he  was 
tearing  himself  from  the  embrace  of  his  dear 
mother,  his  darling  bride,  whom  he  was  never 
more  to  sec. 

In  after  days  these  words  attracted  the  deep 
attention  of  llie  crowned  grandson  of  Ivan,  im- 
pris(med  in  the  same  cell  of  the  black  izba ; 
often  sought  the  ill-fated  Dmftrii  Ivanovitch  the 
key  to  these  hieroglyphics.  It  was  only  the 
tale-teller  Aphonia  who  could  explain  them  in 
relating  the  story  of  the  prisoner.  It  was  not 
in  vain  that  Antony  wrote  these  four  words  in 
his  native  language  ;  they  served  as  noble  fune- 
ral games  in  his  memory,  performed  some  years 
altcrvvards  by  the  lips  of  the  good  old  man,  and 
the  heart  of  the  young  captive,  who  knew  not 
his  own  crime. 

Suddenly  was  heard  a  rustling  at  the  window 
....  Antony  rushed  to  it  ...  .  he  listens  .... 
.Some  one  is  cautiously  clambering  up  the  wall 
....  an  eye  gleamed  at  the  crevice  in  the  win- 
dow, and  then  the  eye  was  succeeded  by  a  little 
hand.  It  held  a  file  and  a  folded  paper.  Anio 
ny  seized  both  the  one  and  the  other,  concealed 
the  file  in  bis  bosom,  and  read  with  difficulty, 
in  terrible  agitation,  the  following  lines,  which  | 


fluttered  and  wavered  before  his  eyes  : — "  To' 
morrow  they  are  to  give  up  thy  head  to  the 
Tartars.  This  night  thou  must  escape.  File 
through  the  iron  grating ;  the  guard  will  not 
hinder  thee.  Through  the  window,  and  to  the 
Mill  of  Zaneglinnaia  !  A  horse  and  guide  await 
thee  there.  From  him  wilt  thou  receive  arms 
and  money.  Further  on,  on  the  road,  the 
Prince  Kholmskoi  and  Khabar  have  posted  in 
various  spots  their  men  and  horses.  They  will 
conduct  thee  to  the  Lithuanian  frontier.  Save 
thyself  by  flying  to  thy  country.  Farewell, 
dear,  ever  loved  friend  !  Remember  that  there 
are  in  Russia  those  who  love  thee  well — O, 
how  well ! — and  will  only  be  happy  when  they 
hear  that  thou  art  happy :  forget  not,  too,  thy 
little  friend  Andrei.  God  grant  thee  time  and 
means  to  escape !  Till  then  I  cannot  be  at 
rest.     Once  inore  farewell,  dear  Antony  !" 

The  soul  of  the  captive  was  filled  with  light ; 
joy  gleamed  in  his  eyes.  He  again  felt  the 
fresh  air,  he  saw  the  fields,  the  sky,  all  so  bright, 
so  wide,  so  boundless  ....  But  hardly  had 
flitted  by  the  first  moments  of  rapture,  awaken- 
ed by  the  thought  of  escape,  of  liberty,  than  self- 
ishness gave  place  to  another  feeling.  Whither 
should  he  fly  ?  To  Bohemia.  True,  there  he- 
would  find  fatherland,  safety,  his  dear-loved 
mother ;  but  would  he  find  that  which  was  the 
ornament  of  his  life — would  he  find  Anastasia  T 
What  would  become  of  him  without  her?  He 
would  die  of  grief  And  here,  at  Moscow,  what 
would  be  the  consequences  of  his  escape  T. 
Would  not  the  prison-guards  suffer — the  retain- 
ers? Perhaps,  and  his  friends  as  well?  For 
him  there  would  be  executions  ;  innocent  blood 
would  be  shed.  No,  no  !  never  would  he  con- 
sent to  sacrifice  to  his  own  safety,  not  his  friends 
only,  but  even  his  fellow-creatures,  even  the 
humblest  of  the  prison-guards.  No  man  should 
sufl^er  for  him.  The  Lord  had  judged  him ;  he-- 
would  drink  his  cup  alone. 

On  one  side  the  world  called  him  to  itself; 
on  the  other  a  sublime,  a  Christian  feeling  com- 
manded him  not  to  hea-rken  to  this  enchanting 
call.  His  head  seemed  full  of  fire,  his  heart 
died  within  him  ....  But  he  must  decide  .... 
He  did. 

His  first  act  was  to  burn  Andriousha's  letter. 
He  did  not  give  him  back  the  file,  not  to  pain 
him  too  suddenly,  but  he  hastily  wrote  on  a 
scrap  of  paper — "  I  know  what  fate  may  over- 
whelm those  to  whom  my  head  is  confided. 
God  and  my  conscience  forbid  me  to  profit  by 
the  means  of  safety  which  they  propose  to  me. 
I  might  escape,  but  my  fellow-creatures  would 
be  ruined.  I  thank  my  friends.  I  thank  thee, 
dear  Andriousha.  The  remembrance  of  your 
friendship  will  sweeten  my  last  moinents.  Fare- 
well, I  embrace  you  all  fondly,  fondly.  There, 
also,  I  shall  he  near  you."  Having  writtca 
these  lines,  and  seized  the  letters  which  he  had 
prepared  for  his  mother,  he  coughed  at  the  crev- 
ice of  the  window.  "  What  wouldst  thou  ?" 
spoke  a  well-known  voice.  "Thy  hand,"  he 
answered.  The  little  hand  again  appeared  at 
the  crevice.  Antony  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and 
placed  in  it  his  missives.  In  receiving  what 
given,  Andric^usha  felt  tears  dropping  on  his  fin- 
gers. "  What  could  they  mean  ?"  thought  he, 
with  a  sinking  of  the  heart ;  and,  seizing  tho 
hand  of  his  friend,  he  hastened  in  his  turn  to 


THE   HERETIC. 


147 


cover  it  with  kisses,  and  then  descended  from  | 
the  shouhiers  of  the  good  Tveritchanin,  who  | 
now,  as  before,  served  him  as  a  hving  ladder. 
The  enigma  which  tortured  him,  was  solved  at 
home  by  the  light  of  the  fire. 

In  order  not  to  fall  into  temptation,  Antony 
threw  the  file  out  of  the  window— the  last  in- 
strument of  escape  !  ....  It  is  finished  !  .... 
Almost  the  whole  night  the  captive  passed  in 
prayer.  It  was  sad  to  leave  this  world  ;  hut 
the  thought  that  he  would  put  ofT  this  earthly 
vesture  in  purity — that  love  and  friendship 
would  conduct  him  with  such  sincere,  such  liv- 
ing devotion — lightened  to  his  soul  the  path  of 
the  cross. 

At  midnight  he  began  to  doze.  He  fancied 
that  he  heard  as  in  a  dream  a  sobbing  at  his 
window.  (This  was  the  sobbing  of  Andriousha, 
who  had  read  the  captive's  answer.)  But  An- 
tony was  so  uninterruptedly,  so  sweetly  weigh- 
ed down  with  sleep,  that  he  had  no  strength  to 
resist  it,  and  he  slumbered  on  his  rugged  couch 
till  dawn. 

Suddenly  ...  he  hears  a  noise,  a  bustle  .... 
"  Where  is  the  Almayne  1"  shouts  a  voice  in  bad 
Russian — "The  Great  Prince  hath  given  us  his 
head.     Give  up  the  Almayne." 

And  immediately  after  there  thronged  into 
the  cell  a  number  of  Tartars,  athletes  in  stat- 
ure, their  eyes  glaring  with  rage  ;  they  rushed 
upon  him,  threw  him  down,  and,  placing  their 
knees  on  his  back,  bound  his  hands  behind  him. 
'Twas  a  needless  violence  !  Antony  resisted 
not. 

"  I  will  go  whither  ye  will,"  said  he,  firmly  ; 
'*  I  only  ask  one  thing  in  the  name  of  your  fa- 
ther, of  your  mother.  Kill  me  speedily,  torture 
me  not." 

"For  a  dog,  a  dog's  death  !"  cried  the  Tar- 
tars :  "  thou  hadst  no  mercy  on  our  Tsare- 
vitch." 

"  Take  that  for  my  nephew  !" 
"And  that  for  my  kinsman  !" 
"And  this  for  our  Tsarevitch  !" 
And   blows  hailed   on   the  unhappy  victim, 
struck  at  random  :  one  beat  him  with  his  fist, 
another  with  the  handle  of  his  knife. 

Around  the  prison  were  assembled  a  multi- 
tude of  Tartars  on  horseback,  and  on  foot. 
They  greeted  the  captive  with  insults,  with 
•ries,  with  laugliter.  Thus  does  the  company 
of  Satan  receive  its  victim  at  the  gates  of  hell. 

The  horrible  procession  moved  along  the 
riverside,  by  the  Great  Street,  towards  the 
bridge  over  the  Moskva.  Crowds  of  people 
began  to  join  in  behind  it.  It  might  have  been 
expected  that  the  mob  would  add  its  insults  to 
those  with  which  the  Tartars  received  their  un- 
happy victim  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  Russians, 
beholding  the  youth,  the  beauty,  the  noble  mien 
of  Antony,  and  hearing  that  he  had  been  about 
to  take  the  Russian  faith,  pitied  him,  and  re- 
proached the  Tartars  ;  many  women  wept. 

Near  the  Konstantino-Yelenoffskii  gate,  the 
Prince  Kholmskii,  Aristotle,  and  Khabar  en- 
countered the  procession.  They  rushed  up  to 
the  leaders  and  offered  them  a  rich  ransom  to 
set  free  their  captive.  The  friends  of  Antony 
were  joined  by  a  young  and  beautiful  woman  ; 
she  offered  in  contribution  a  chain  of  gold, 
bracelets,  and  other  female  ornaments.  This 
<was  Haidee. 


Some  ol  the  Tartars  were  shaken  by  these 
offers  ;  but  the  kinsmen  of  Karakatcha  would 
not  relent.  At  last  tiie  friends  of  the  unfortu- 
nate prisoner,  by  increasing  their  bribes,  could 
only  induce  them  to  delay  the  execution  a  few 
moments  longer. 

They  still  expected  mercy  from  Ivan  Vassl- 
lievitch.  Andiiousha  had  gone  to  him;  Kou- 
n'tzin  had  promised  at  all  hazards  to  admit  An- 
driousha to  the  Great  Prince. 

In  order,  in  case  of  pardon,  the  sooner  to 
communicate  it  to  the  executioners  of  the  pun- 
ishment, Khabar  had  galloped  to  the  Konstan- 
tino-Yelenoffskaia  street ;  there  he  awaited  the 
messenger.  Aristotle  in  the  mean  time  had 
forced  his  way  up  to  the  condemned  captive, 
and  was  consoling  and  comforting  him. 

Koun'tzin  had  kept  his  word — Andriousha 
was  already  at  the  ruler's  feet,  embracing  them, 
covering  them  with  tears.  At  first  he  could 
not  utter  a  word. 

How  changed  was  the  Great  Prince's  little 
favourite  since  he  last  had  seen  him  !  Where 
was  the  bloom  of  his  face,  the  sparkle  of  his 
eyes'!  All  this  was  gone;  instead,  was  ex- 
haustion and  the  paleness  of  the  grave ;  his 
eyes  were  sunk,  his  face  was  convulsed,  his  lips 
parched,  as  if  they  were  crusted  with  earth. 

"What  wouldst  thou  T'  asked  the  Prince, 
touched  in  spile  of  himself 

"  Mercy,  O  my  Lord  !  pardon  Antony  the 
leech,"  said  Andriousha  in  a  voice  in  which  all 
his  soul  was  poured  forth.  "  God  see'th,  he  is 
not  guilty ;  some  wicked  men  changed  the 
medicine.  I  know  him  :  I  will  answer  for  him, 
he  would  never  do  a  wicked  deed.  Have  mer- 
cy upon  him.  my  Tsar,  my  father  !  Be  gener- 
ous !  I  will  be  thy  bond-slave  until  the  grave. 
Make  of  me  what  thou  wilt,  architect,  stone- 
hewer,  day-labourer :  whatever  thou  wilt,  I 
will  be  all  for  thee.  I  will  serve  thee  as  a  faith- 
ful slave  while  I  have  a  drop  of  blood  remain- 
ing. Employ  me  in  whatever  work  thou  wilt ; 
in  war,  in  death ;  put  me  in  Antony's  place, 
but  only  have  mercy  upon  him.  I  will  for  ever 
pray  to  God  for  thee." 

In  aid  of  the  eloquent  intercessor  came 
Sophia  Phomlnishna  from  another  chamber, 
whence  she  heard  the  piteous  prayer,  which 
tore  her  soul ;  and  she  began  urgently  to  im- 
ph)re  the  Great  Prince  to  show  pity  on  the 
leech.  At  this  moment  she  remembered  not 
her  grudge  against  Antony  for  insulting  her 
brother,  Andrei  Phomitch. 

"  "J'is  well,"  said  the  sovereign  deeply 
touched  ;  "  I  accord  ye  the  life  of  Antony  the 
leech.  Koun'tzin,"  he  added,  turning  to  his 
deacon,  "send  the  guards  in  my  name  to  liber- 
ate the  leech  from  the  Tartars,  and  call  Danyar 
to  me.     Haply  I  may  bend  him." 

Andriousha  shrieked  for  joy  ....  he  arose  . 
.  .  .  again  fell  at  the  feet  of  Ivan  Vassilievitch, 
kissed  them,  and,  swifter  than  lightning,  flew 
from  the  palace  of  the  Great  Prince.  The 
dvoretzkoi,  who  tried  to  stop  him  in  the  pas- 
sage, he  hurled  prostrate.  Forgetting  where 
was  his  hat,  he  rushed,  with  uncovered  head, 
like  a  madman,  along  square  and  street. 

In    the     Konstantino-Yelenoffskaia    street, 
Khabar  was  no  longer  to  be  seen  ....  Had 
they  already  1  .  .  .  . 
I      Andriousha's  heart  died  within  him.     Ago- 


148 


THE    HERETIC. 


nized  with  terror,  panting  for  breath,  he  fell 
....  he  struggled  to  breath,  arose  ....  again 
rushed  on,  and  again  fell  ....  he  tried  to  shout, 
but  his  voice  was  dried  up,  and  uttered  only 
unintelligible  sounds  ;  he  tried  to  crawl  on,  but 
could  not  ...  .  Strength,  life,  had  left  hira.  He 
dashed  himself  upon  the  frozen  earth ;  he 
seemed  to  be  wrestling  for  life  and  death  .  .  .  . 
and  at  length  he  fell  exhausted  in  a  swoon. 

In  this  condition  he  was  found  by  Aristotle, 
himself  almost  in  a  state  of  frenzy. 

"  It  is  too  late  !"  he  cried  in  a  death-like  voice, 
raising  his  dying  son,  throwing  him  on  his 
shoulder,  and  carrying  him  away, — himself  he 
knew  not  whither.  With  this  burden  he  wan- 
dered about  like  a  shadow,  groping  his  way  by 
the  houses  and  the  fences.  Some  one  who 
knew  them,  took  pity  upon  them,  and  led  them 
home. 

Yes,  it  was  too  late.  They  had  seen  the 
Tsarevitch  Danyar  galloping  to  his  people,  ra- 
ging at  them,  and  giving  stern  order  to  finish 
the  horrid  sacrifice  ;  they  had  seen  the  Tartars 
drag  Antony  from  the  bank  under  the  bridge  on 
the  ice  of  the  frozen  river  ;  they  had  seen  An- 
tony bow  to  the  people ;  when  freed  from  his 
bonds  he  crossed  himself,  pressed  something  to 
his  bosom,  and  then  the  Tartar  ....  lifting 
him  high  triumphantly,  by  the  thick,  bright 
curls  of  the  fair  head  .... 

And  the  sun  at  that  very  moment  so  brightly 
shone  in  heaven  ! 

Having  collected  the  remains  of  the  dead, 
Khabar  and  the  Tveritchanin  Apnonia  buried 
them  at  night  near  the  "court  of  the  Antonoff, 
behind  Saint  Lazarus."' 

And  it  was  for  this  that  Antony  Ehrenstein 
had  come  to  Russia  !  And  it  was,  too,  that  he 
might  leave  the  following  just  and  honourable 
Imes  about  himself  in  history—"  The  leech  An- 
tony the  Almayne  did  come  hither  {in  1485)  to  y' 
Grele  Prince ;  the  said  Anton  icas  held  in  grete 
honour  of  the  Grete  Prince  ;  m  showing  his  craft 
upon  Karakatcfui,  Tsarevitch  Danyar,  he  slew  the 
aforesaid  with  poison,  killing  him  for  a  jest.  And 
the  prince  thereupon  did  give  him  up  to  'the  Tar- 
tares'  ....  and  they  took  the  said  leech  to  the 
rivere  of  Moskva,  under  the  bridge,  in  wynter, 
and  did  there  cuttc  hys  throte  with  thetrc  knyves, 
like  a  shcpe." 

And  what  became  of  Anastasia  ?  Day  by 
day  in  her  eyes  and  in  her  soul  it  grew  darker 
and  darker,  until  all  was  melted  into  one  dread- 
ful gloom.  Antony  incessantly  appeared  be- 
fore, and  called  her  to  himself 

"  I  come,  I  come — my  love,  my  husband  !" 
she  cried  in  her  frenzy. 

She  languished  awhile,  pining  and  withering 
away  ;  at  last  madness  fired  her  soul  ....  she 
laid  hands  on  herself 

Ask  me  not  how  this  was. 

You  know  by  history  that  the  execution  of 
the  leech  threw  into  violent  terror  all  the  for- 
eigners dwelling  in  Moscow  ;  that  Aristotle  was 
about  to  fly  to  his  own  country  ;  that  the  Great 
Prince  "  took  him,  plundered  him,  and  impris- 
oned him  in  the  court  of  Antonoff,  behind  Sanct 
Lazarus  ;"  that  the  artist  performed  his  vow— 
finished  the  Cathedral  of  the  Annunciation  of 
the  Holy  Virgin.  But  what  afterwards  became 
of  him  and  his  son— where  they  directed  their 
steps,  you  can  nowhere  discover.     In  vain  your 


God 


heart  enquires  where  lies  their  dust 
knows  !" 

'Tis  sad,  'tis  very  sad  ! 

You  certainly  do  not  ask  me  what  was  Kha- 
bar-Simskois  future  fate.  Well  known  to  the 
heart  of  every  Russian  must  be  the  liberation  of 
Nijnii-Novgorod  from  our  foes  ;  the  saving  of 
our  honour  at  Riazan.  besieged  by  the  Tartars 
in  the  time  of  Vassi'lii  Ivanovitch ;  and  other 
exploits  of  this  renowned  voevoda. 

We  have  forgotten  to  say,  that  on  the  day  of 
Antony's  execution  was  born  Ivan's  grandson, 
Dmiirii  Ivanovitch. 

We  think  it  necessary  to  add,  in  concluding 
our  tale,  that  the  place  of  the  leech  Antony  at 
the  court  of  the  Great  Prince  was  supplied,  at 
Poppels  recommendation,  by  Master  Leon,  a  Jew 
by  birth  ;  that  this  master  treated  and  effectually 
cured  Ivan  the  Young,  and  was  for  this  crime 
publicly  executed  on  the  Bolvanoffka,  beyond 
the  river  Moskva.  At  this  no  one  was  sorry : 
well  did  the  villain  deserve  his  torments. 

Let  us  now  change  the  scene  to  Germany. 

Poppel,  on  returning  to  his  sovereign's  court, 
hastened  to  gratify  his  uncle  with  the  news  of 
his  namesake's  death.  "Wretch!"  cried  the 
baron,  driven  almost  to  frenzy  :  "  he  was  my 
son.  I  am  his  murderer.  I  curse  thee  and 
myself!" 

He  hastened  to  relate  to  every  one  the  story 
of  Antony's  birth  and  of  his  own  wickedness. 
Soon  a  monastery  received  him  in  its  walls. 
At  the  same  monastery  there  afterwards  arrived 
another  seeker  for  retirement  :  this  was  Anto- 
nio Fioraventi.  We  may  judge  what  was  their 
first  meeting.  Yet  long  they  continued  to 
meet,  day  after  day,  in  the  passages  of  the  mon- 
astery ;  they  bowed  humbly  to  each  other,  and 
hastened  to  wash  away,  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross,  with  tears  of  deep  remorse,  the  blood 
of  the  innocent  victim  with  which  they  were 
stained. 

I  met  with  one  person,  the  irritable  critic  of 
every  thing  and  every  body  ;  a  tall,  withered, 
dried-up  old  fellow,  who  asked  me  why  I  had 
not  explained  to  Antony,  before  his  death,  that 
he  was  the  baron.     "  What  for !"  asked  I. 

"  Why,  he  would  have  died  easier,"  was  the 
reply. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AO.ilN    IN    BOHEMIA. 

"  Play  we  lo  an  end  our  play,  sing  our  song  out  while 

we  may." 

You  remember,  doubtless,  the  castle  by  the 
White  Mountain,  on  the  bank  of  the  Elbe, 
though  it  is  long  since  we  left  it.  Here,  in 
rather  less  than  three  years  since  we  were 
there,  let  us  again  enter  the  court-yard  belong- 
ing to  this  poor  castle. 

A  lovely  day  of  autumn — remember,  in  Bohe- 
mia— is  already  inclining  towards  evening,  am! 
throws  its  rosy  veil  over  sky,  over  stream — 
over  all  things.  And  the  castle  is  all  glowing 
with  the  blaze,  as  though  there  were  a  festival 
there.  All  creation,  penetrated  by  a  kind  of 
balmy  quietness,  breathes  soft,  and  light,  and 
low.  In  the  courtyard  of  the  castle,  a  majestic 
elm,  still  beautiful,  though  old  age  and  autumn 
have  despoiled  it  of  its  ornaments,  has  drawn 
toward  itself  a  young  vine,  which  firmly  em- 


THE    HERETIC. 


149 


braces  it,  twines  in  wanton  wreaths  around  its 
branches,  and  adorns  it  with  its  clusters  warmly 
glowing  in  the  last  rays  of  the  sun.  On  one  of 
the  boughs  is  suspended  a  cradle,  all  nested  in 
flowers.  An  aged  man,  white-haired,  tall, 
withered,  with  tender  assiduity  is  rocking  it, 
seated  on  a  stool.  But  the  infant  has  begun  to 
cry,  and  the  old  man  hastens  to  draw  back  the 
curtains,  takes  the  baby  in  his  arms,  dandles 
and  nurses  it  till  the  mother  comes.  Now  a 
young  woman  takes  the  sweet  burden  from  the 
male  nurse,  sits  down  also  beneath  the  elm,  and 
begins  to  feed  it  from  the  breast.  Her  glances 
gaze  now  at  the  child  with  love,  then  with  ten- 
derness they  meet  two  dear  beings  who  have 
approached  the  elm,  and  stopped  at  a  short  dis- 
tance. One— a  tall,  handsome,  blooming  pea- 
sant or  farmer,  (judging  by  his  dress,  which  is 
distinguished  from  that  of  a  peasant  by  some 
shades  of  taste;)  the  other — a  child  of  two 
years  old.  Between  these  two  a  struggle  is 
going  on,  and  the  mother  guesses  that  the  vic- 
tory will  remain  on  the  side  of  the  latter.  The 
child,  all  flushed  and  rosy,  is  trying  with  all  his 
might  to  drag  along  the  spade  which  the  young 
peasant  has  brought  from  his  labour  in  the 
fields.  The  father  wishes  to  let  him  have  his 
■way,  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  is  afraid  that  the 
load,  above  his  strength,  may  hurt  the  boy.  At 
last  a  peace  is  made ;  the  boy  is  to  do  as  he 
likes — he  drags  along  the  spade,  but  the  father 
ties  his  garter  to  it,  on  which  is  supported  the 
whole  weight  of  the  tool.  This  contest  and 
victory  singularly  amuses  the  old  man  and  the 
young  woman.  All  this  picture  is  coloured  with 
the  rosy  liquid  light  of  sunset. 

Hail,  old  friends,  Yan,  Yakoubek  and  Lioubou- 
sha  !  But  your  family  has  increased.  Every 
thing  proves  that  ye  live  contented  and  happy. 
Ye  have  not  sought  this  happiness  beyond  the 
sea ;  ye  have  found  it  around  yourselves.  God 
be  praised,  ye  know  not  even  the  name  of  the 
passions  !  Your  blood  has  never  boiled  with 
them;  your  hearts  have  never  been  rent  in 
pieces  by  them ;  their  hellish  tortures  have 
never  deprived  you  of  food,  of  sleep,  nor  ago- 
nized your  imagination  with  threatening  phan- 
toms.     God    be   praised  ! Peace   and 

blessedness  shall  never  depart  even  from  your 
graves !  "  Here  rest  the  good,"  will  say  the 
neighbours  who  knew  ye,  as  they  point  to  your 
turf,  and  the  traveller  will  remember  ye  with  a 
blessing. 

The  young  woman,  having  suckled  her  infant, 
puts  him  hack  in  the  cradle,  and  the  old  man 
again  applies  himself  to  lull  it  to  sleej).  A  ta- 
ble is  spread  beneath  the  elm ;  soon  the  even- 
ing meal  is  ready.  But  before  they  sit  down 
to  it,  all  the  family  piously  say  a  prayer ;  and 
the  child,  repeating  after  his  mother,  lisps  a 
thanksgiving  to  God  for  its  daily  bread.  They 
take  their  seats;  Lioubousha  alone  delays  to 
sit  down.  She  strains  her  glances  on  the 
neighbouring  mountain,  along  which  winds  the 
road  leading  to  the  castle,  and  seems  to  follow 
with  her  eyes  some  moving  object. 

"  What  art  thou  hunting  for  there,  Lioubou- 
sha 1"  asked  Yakoubek.  "Is  it  the  cow  that 
has  strayed!  Here's  a  job  for  me,  just  as  it 
was  last  year  ....  she  will  give  me  work  till 
night !" 

"No,"  answered  the  young  woman,  "there 


is  a  traveller  creeping  along  the  mountain  ;  an 
old  man  ....  yes,  I  can  see  he  is  very  weary. 
Shall  we  not  wait  for  him!" 

Yakoubek  made  a  penthouse  over  his  eyes 
with  his  hand,  and  after  a  short  pause  exclaim- 
ed— "  It  is  a  traveller  !  By  his  dress,  it  is  clear 
he  doth  not  belong  to  these  parts.  Well,  we 
will  wait  for  him." 

They  covered  up  the  milk  from  the  flies,  quiet- 
ed the  impatience  of  the  boy  with  a  slice  of 
bread,  and  began  to  await  the  wayfarer.  But 
as  he  crept  along  with  difficulty,  the  young  wo- 
man went  to  meet  him,  welcomed  him  with 
friendly  words,  and  taking  him  by  the  hand 
helped  him  on  quicker  to  the  elm. 

The  traveller's  dress  was  not  German,  and  he 
spoke  a  language  which,  though  intelligible  to 
the  Bohemians,  was  not  Tchekh.  The  old  man, 
before  he  bowed  to  his  host,  made  several  signs 
of  the  (^ross  before  an  image  placed  in  a  small 
cavity  of  the  elm,  which  highly  pleased  the  pious 
Bohemians. 

They  seated  him  in  the  place  of  honour,  and 
welcomed  him  as  well  as  they  could  both  with 
bodily  food  and  kindness.  Soon  the  whole  fam- 
ily took  a  great  fancy  to  the  old  man.  And  even 
the  little  son  of  Yakoubek,  who  was  two  years 
old,  and  had  been  at  first  afraid  of  him,  probably 
because  he  had  only  one  eye,  in  a  short  time 
crept  up  to  him,  and  began  to  ask  for  his  staff 
to  ride  on  horseback  upon. 

And  there  was  an  important  reason  why  the 
inhabitants  of  the  castle  should  love  the  trav- 
eller— he  was  a  Russian ;  he  had  come  from 
Moscow.  You  have  guessed,  that  it  was  the 
Tveritchanin,  Aphanasii  Nikitin.  He  had  trav- 
elled to  the  countries  towards  the  rising  of  the 
sun  ;  he  had  desired  also  to  visit  those  which 
lay  at  his  setting,  and  here  ....  he  had  come 
.  ...  It  is  true  it  was  not  curiosity  alone  that 
attracted  him  to  Bohemia  ;  he  bore  to  Antony's 
mother  one  of  the  letters  from  the  departed. 

"  When  they  learned  that  the  traveller  was 
a  Russian,  Yan,  Yakoubek,  and  Lioubousha 
overwhelmed  him  with  questions  about  their 
young  master.  "  Good  heaven  !  from  Russia, 
from  Moscow  !"  said  they  ;  "  if  we  had  known 
that  we  should  receive  so  welcome  a  guest,  we 
would  have  gone  to  meet  thee  at  Lipetsk,  and 
brought  thee  hither  in  our  arms  !" 

But  the  traveller,  before  he  answered  their 
multitudinous  questions,  himself  asked  them 
where  was  the  boyarinia,  the  mother  of  his 
young  lord,  Antony. 

"  There  !"  answered  Yan,  pointing  to  heaven. 

The  old  man  crossed  himself  with  piety,  and 
cried, — "  Glory  be  to  God  !....!  was  about 
to  bring  her  news  of  her  son  ....  but  they 
have  already  met,  already  spoken  to  each 
other." 

The  tidings  of  their  young  master's  death 
deeply  touched  the  good  inhabitants  of  the 
tower.  They  remembered  the  beauty  of  his 
person,  his  noble  heart,  his  last  visit  to  the  cas- 
tle, distinguished  by  various  deeds  of  charity  ; 
they  blessed  him  for  the  happiness  which  he 
had  procured  for  the  whole  family,  they  re- 
membered their  young  lord's  departure  for  Mus- 
covy .... 

"  As  if  he  had  foreseen  that  he  would  never 
come  back,"  said  Yakoubek,  interrupting  his 
words  with  sobs ;  " '  who  knoweth  whether  we 


150 


THE    HERETIC. 


shall  ever  meet  again  V  he  said  at  Lipetsk,  when 
I  attended  him  there  ....  It  was  not  for  no- 
thing that  my  heart  died  away  I  I  should  have 
liked  to  have  seen  him  hut  once  more  I  I  think 
I  could  have  borne  it  better  !" 

"  Thanks  be  to  God  that  the  Lady  Baroness 
died  before  him,"  said  Yan,  '■  or  how  she  would 
have  suffered,  poor  lady,  at  her  end  !" 

"  But  when  did  the  boyarinia  finish  her  life  V 
asked  the  traveller. 

"  It  will  soon  now  be  two  years,"  replied 
Yan.  "  She  was  well  and  calm  ....  gay,  I 
cannot  say  ;  for  gay  I  had  not  seen  her  since  a 
long,  a  very  long  time  ....  Suddenly,  without 
any  cause,  she  began  to  mourn,  she  became 
thoughtful,  she  grew  unquiet  ....  thou  seest, 
good  man,  this  must  have  been  caused  by  some 
bad  dream  about  her  son  .  .  .  .  '  It  is  not  in 
vain,'  she  said  ;  '  something,  yes,  something 
bad  hath  happened  to  him.'  I  reasoned  with 
her  as  far  as  my  poor  wit  would  go,  or  rather 
my  love  and  devotion  to  her ;  and  sent  Father 
Laurence  to  her  with  the  Church's  consolations. 
No,  the  gracious  lady  insisted  on  one  thing — 
that  some  harm  had  happened  to  her  son.  She 
faded,  faded  away,  and  took  to  her  bed. 

But  one  day,  in  the  morning,  they  brought 
her  through  the  Jew  Zakharia — perhaps  thou 
knowest  him  or  hast  seen  him  in  Russia---lo 
they  brought  her  a  letter  from  my  young  lord  ! 
You  should  have  seen  what  happened  with  her 
then !  Before,  she  could  hardly  lift  her  hand, 
but  then  she  herself  arose  in  bed,  and  began  to 
press  the  letter  to  her  heart  and  weep.  Oh, 
those  were  tears,  such  as  God  grant  we  may 
weep  in  the  other  world  !  She  called  us  all 
around  her,  and  showed  the  letter  to  us ;  joy 


gleamed  in  her  eyes,  and  her  cheeks  glowed 
just  like  a  young  maiden's.  Then  she  dressed 
herself  in  her  best  clothes  :  there  were  the  sa- 
bles, too,  that  my  Lord  Antony  gave  her — and 
sent  for  Father  Laurence  to  read  the  letter. 
And  he  read  to  her  how  happily  our  young  lord 
was  living,  and  how  he  was  loved  by  his  young 
beautiful  wife,  and  how  the  Lord  King  of 
Muscovy  covered  him  with  his  favour.  Well, 
goodman,  she  could  not  long  bear  such  extremi- 
ty of  joy  ...  in  three  days  she  rendered  up  her 
soul  to  God.  And  in  dying,  she  ever  held  the 
letter  to  her  bosom.  So  they  buried  her  with 
it." 

The  traveller's  heart  was  swelling  as  he  lis- 
tened to  this  tale ;  often  did  he  wipe  away 
with  the  back  of  his  hand  the  tears  that  rolled 
down  in  spite  of  him,  one  after  the  other.  He 
did  not  undeceive  the  inhabitants  of  the  poor 
castle  with  regard  to  Antony's  welfare  :  he 
would  not  take  so  great  a  sin  upon  his  soul. 
On  the  contrary,  he  endeavoured  to  paint  in 
still  fairer  colours  the  happy  life  of  the  court 
physician  in  Russia,  and  added  that  he  had  only 
recently  died.  But  as  he  recounted  all  this,  he 
could  not  refrain  from  weeping  .... 

He  passed  two  weeke  enjoying  the  hospitality 
of  his  new  friends,  as  if  he  were  in  his  own 
family  ;  he  desired  at  first  to  go  yet  further  to 
the  West,  but  he  went  not — some  mournful  re- 
membrance drew  him  back  to  Russia. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  tower  conducted  him 
on  his  way,  as  if  they  were  escorting  once 
more  their  young  lord  on  his  road  to  Russia. 
Long  they  stood  at  the  cross-road,  till  he  had 
altogether  vanished  from  their  sight  ;  long  con- 
tinued the  talk  about  him  in  the  happy  family. 


POPULAR  LITERATURE 

JUST      READY 

BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW-YORK. 

Miss  Bremer's  New  Work. 

A  Diary  ;  with  Strife  and  Peace. — Translated  by  Mary  Howitt  from  the  Swedish  of 
Fredrika  Bremer.     Price  12|  cents. 

James's  New  Novel. 

Arabella  Stuart :  a  Romance  of  English  History.  By  the  Author  of  "  Richelieu,'* 
"  The  False  Heir,"  "  Forest  Days,"  &c.     Price  12|  cents. 

Mrs.  Hofland's  New  Novel. 

The  Unloved  One :  a  Domestic  Story.  By  Mrs.  Holland,  Author  of  "  The  Czar- 
ina," &c.     Price  12|  cents. 

Dickens's  New  Work. 

A  Christmas  Carol,  in  Prose  ;  being  a  Ghost  Story  of  Christmas.  By  Charles  Dick- 
ens.    Price  6|  cents. 

Kohl's  Travels  in  Ireland. 

Ireland  :  Dublin,  the  Shannon,  Limerick,  Cork,  the  Kilkenny  Races,  the  Round 
Towers,  the  Lakes  of  Killarney,  the  County  of  Wicklow,  O'Connell  and  the  Repeal 
Association,  Belfast  and  the  Giant's  Causeway.     By  J.  G.  Kohl.     Price  12|  cents. 

Paris's  Pharmacologia. 

Pharmacologia,  being  an  extended  Inquiry  into  the  Operations  of  Medicinal  Bodies, 
upon  which  are  founded  the  Theory  and  Art  of  Prescribing.  By  J.  A.  Paris,  M.D  , 
F.R.S.  From  the  Ninth  London  Edition.  Rewritten  in  order  to  incorporate  the  Latest 
Discoveries  in  Physiology,  Chemistry,  and  Materia  Medica.  With  Notes,  by  Charles 
A.  Lee,  M.D.,  A.M.     8vo. 

Magendie's  Physiology. 

An  Elementary  Treatise  on  Human  Physiology,  on  the  Basis  of  the  Precis  E16- 
mentaire  de  Physiologic,  par  F.  Magendie.  Fifth  Edition.  Translated,  Enlarged,  and 
Illustrated  with  Diagrams  and  Cuts.     By  John  Revere,  M.D. 

Stanshury's  Interest  Tahles. 

Tables  of  Interest  at  Seven  per  Cent.  Calculated  by  Months  and  Days,  and  by  cur- 
rent Days  at  the  rates  of  360  and  365  to  the  year.  Decimally  arranged  under  the 
head  of  Time.  Each  Table  exhibiting  the  Interest  on  any  Number  of  Dollars  from 
One  to  Ten  Thousand,  by  addition  of  never  to  exceed  two  Items  ;  and  the  Interest  of 
Cents  by  Inspection.     By  George  A.  Stansbury,  A.B. 

l^aluable  Work  for  Mechanics  and  Engineers. 

Haswell's  Engineers'  and  Mechanics'  Pocket-book,  containing  United  States  and 
Foreign  Weights  and  Measures,  Tables  of  Areas  and  Circumferences  of  Circles,  Cir- 
cular Segments,  and  Zones  of  a  Circle ;  Squares  and  Cubes,  Square  and  Cube  Roots ; 
Lengths  of  Circular  and  Semi-ecliptic  Arcs  ;  and  Rules  of  Arithmetic.  Mensuration 
of  Surfaces  and  Solids ;  the  Mechanical  Powers  ;  Geometry,  Trigonometry,  Gravity, 
Strength  of  Materials,  Water-wheels,  Hydraulics,  Hydrostatics,  Pneumatics,  Statics, 
Dynamics,  Gunnery,  Heat,  Winding  Engines,  Tonnage,  Shot,  Shells,  &c.  Steam  and 
the  Steam  Engine;  Combustion,  Water,  Cables  and  Anchors,  Fuel,  Air,  Guns,  &c., 
&c.  Tables  of  the  We;<^hts  of  Metals,  Pipes,  &c.  Miscellaneous  Notes  and  Exercis- 
es, &c.,  &c.     By  Charles  H.  Haswell,  Chief  Engineer  U.  S.  Navy. 


^ 


BIOGRAPHICAL  WORKS 

PUBLISHED    BY    HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    NEW-YORK 


SPAJIKS'S  AMERICAN  BIOGRA- 
HHV.  —  Library  of  Amcncaii  Bi- 
ugranliy.     Cdil«l  by  Jureil  Sparks, 
LL.U.     10  v..l«.  12mu.     Purtraits, 
Ac     (S'lltl  separatoly  or  m  sela.J 
73  c«nl*  |>er  vuluise. 
ol.  I.  cuntains  Life  of  John  Stark, 
by  E.  Everett. — Life    of  Charles 
Bnickiieii  Brown,  Ijy  VV.  II.  Pres- 
cott. — Life  of  Richurd  Muiit^oiii- 
•ry,  by  John  Armstron!». — Life  of 
Ethan  Alkii,  by  Jareil  Sparks. 
Vol.  II.  Life  of  Ale.x.  Wilson,  by  W. 
B.  O.  I'ealiody.  —  Life  of  Cnptam 
John  Smith,  by  George  S.  iliUiarU. 
VoL  III.  Life  and  Treason  of  Bene- 
dict Arnold,  by  JarcJ  Sparks. 
Vol.  IV.  Life  of  Anthony  Wayne,  by 
John  Arin»troni(. — Life  of  Sir  Hen- 
ry Vniie,  by  C  W.  Uphaiii. 
Vol.  V.  Life  of  John  Eliot,  the  Apos- 
tle   of    the    Indians,    by    Convers 
Francis. 
Vol.  VI.   Life  of  William  Pinknev, 
by  H.'iiry  Wlieaton.— Life  of  Will- 
iam EUery,  by  E.  T.  Channin?.— 
Life  of  Cotton  Mather,  by  Wm.  B. 
O.  Peatiody. 
Vol.  VII.  Life  of  Sir  William  Phips, 
l»y  Francis  Bowon. — Life  of  Israel 
rnlnoin,  by  Win.  B.  O.  Pe:Uxxly. 
— Menu  11  r  of  Lurrctia  Marin  Daviil- 
si«i,  by  Miss  Sedjfwick. — Life  of 
Daviil  Ilitteiiboiise,  bv  J.  Rcnwicl. 
Vol.  VIII.  Life  of  Jonaliian  Edwards, 
by  Samuel  Miller. — Life  of  David 
Brnineid,  by  Wm.  B.  O.  Peabody. 
Vol.  IX.  Life  of  Bait>n  Stoulion,  by 
Francis  Bowen. — Life  of  Seb:u'tian 
Cabot,  liy  Charles  Haywanl,  Jr. — 
Life  of  William  Eaton,  by  Corne- 
lius C.  Fclton. 
Vol.  X.  Life  of  Robert  Fultop   by  J. 
Reiiwick.— Life  of  Henry  Hudson, 
by  Henry  R.  Cleveland.— Life  of 
Josef  h  Warren,  by  Alexander  H. 
Everett.  — Life    of    Father    Mar- 
.^uette,  by  Jared  Sparks. 
HUNTERS    SACRED    BIOORA- 
J'JIY.— Sai:rud  BiOKinpliy  ,  or,  the 
History    of    the    Patriarchs.     To 
whwh    is    added   the    History   of 
Deborah,  Ruth,  and  Hannah,  and 
also  the  History  of  Jesus  Christ. 
By  Henry  lliintor,  D.D.     8vo. 
LIFE   OF   DR.   FISK.— The   Life 
of  Willbnr  Fisk,  D.D.,  first  Pres- 
ident of  the  We^leyan  Univemitr. 
Uy  Jowiph  Uoldich.    8ro.     Pur- 
Uiul.—fi  00. 
I'LUTARCir,    8vo.  -  PlularcVi 
Lives.     Translated  from  the  Ori- 
cinal   Greek,    with    Notes,   and   a 
Life  of  Plutan:h.     By  John  Lanu- 
honie,  M.l>.,  and   William  Lang- 
horno,  A.M.  Hvo.  Portrait.   Shccji 
eitra.     $8  00. 
PLUTARCH,  l?mo.— The  same 
work,  in  4  vols.   13mo,  printed   m 
Urge  ty|>o.     Sheep  extra.    93  iO. 
iLARON  IIURR.-McmoirsofAnron 
Burr.    With  MiKrellaiuMMis  Corre- 
■jMJlKlence.    Ily  Matthew  L.  Davis. 
3vol».  8vo.     ruitrailn.     t3t*0ti.tt. 
IIURR'S  PRIVATE  JOURNAl..- 
Private    Jnunial    of   Aaron    Burr, 
durniK  his  Rosidenre  in  Europe  ; 
witli    Selections    from   Ins   Coirc- 
spuiulence.    Eilitod  by  M.  L.  Davis. 
t  voU.  Uvo.     $4  M. 


GOVERNOR  LIVINGSTON.-Me- 
moir  of  the  Life  of  William  Liv- 
ingston, Governor  of  the  State  of 
New-Jersey   from    1776    to   1790. 
With    ExtracU    from    his    Corre- 
spondence, Ac.     By  Theo.  Sedg- 
wick, Jr.    8vo.     Portrait.     $2  00. 
LUCIEN  BONAPARTE.-Memoirs 
of  Lucien   Bonaparte   (Prince    of 
Cauino).     12nio.     30  cents. 
MRS.  HANNAH  MORE.— Memoir* 
of  the  Life  and  Corresmmdence  of 
Mrs.  Hannah  More.     By  W.  Rob- 
erts. 2vols.l2ino.  Portrait.  >I50. 
JOHN    JAV.-Life   of   John   Jay; 
with   Selections  from    his   Corre- 
spondence and  Miscellaneous  Pa- 
pera.     By  his  Son,  William  Jay 
2  vols.  8vo.     Portrait.     $5  00. 
MOORES    BYRON. -Letters   and 
Journals    of    Lord    Byron.     With 
Notices  of  his  Life.     By  Thomas 
Moore,  Esq.   2  vols.  8vo.   Portrait. 
Sheep  extra.     $2  75. 
DUCHESS  D'ABRANTES.  — Me- 
moira  of  tlie  Duchess  d'Abrantes 
(Madame  Junot).     8vo.     Portrait. 
$1  38. 
TAYLOR'S  RECORDS.— Record* 
of  my  Life.    By  John  Taylor,  Au- 
thor of  "  Monsieur  Touson."   8vo. 
«I50. 
THE  CONGRESS  OF  1776.- 
Lives  of  the  Signers  of  the  Decla- 
ration   of    Independence.     By    N. 
Dwight.   12ino.  Half  sheep.  90  cts. 
LORD  EDWARD  FITZGERALD. 
—The    Life   and   Death   of  Lord 
Edward  Fitzgenild.    By  T.  Moore. 
2  vols.  I2m<«.    Portrat.    91  00. 
CLARKE,  THE  TRAVELLER.— 
Life  and  Remains  of  Edward  Dan- 
iel Clarke.     By  Rev.  William  Ot- 
ter.    8vo.     91  00. 
STEWART   AM)  THE  "WES- 
TERN  LAND-PIRATE."— His- 
tory of  Virgil  A.  Stewart,  and  his 
Adventures  in  Capturing  and  Ex- 
posing the  Great  "  Westfm  Land- 
Pirate"  and  his  Gang  :  also  <if  the 
Trials,   Confessions,    and    Execu- 
tion of  a  NumlH-i  of  MurrelPs  As- 
Bocmies,  Ac.     13mo.     90  rents. 
M'O  V  I  R  E'S  W  A  S  H I  N  GT  O  N. 
—  The    Religious    Opinions    and 
Charncter    uf    Washington       Hv 
Rcv.E.C.MGuiiv.   laino.   $1  ll 
EDMUND    KEAN.-Life  of  Ed- 
miiiiil  Kesn.     By  Barry  Cornwall 
(B.  W.  PriH-ter.)     12mn     65  ctt. 
R  E  V.  L  E  M  II  E  L  H  A  Y  N  E  S.— 
Sketches  of  the  Life  and  Charac- 
ter of  Rev.  Lemuel  Haynet.     By 
T.  M.  Coolev,  D.D.     With  an  In- 
troduction, bv  William  n.  Sprague, 
D.D.     12mo;     Portrait.    90  cents. 
MRS.  SIDDONS.— LifeofMrs.Sul- 
ilons.    Bv  Thomas  Campbell,  Esu. 
ISino.     J'oi trait.    70  cents. 
BOSTON    TEA-PARTY.  —Traits 
of  the  Tea-Parly  ;  l)eing  n  Memoir 
of  George  R.  T.  Hewes,  one  of  the 
Lttst  of  Its  Surviven.    With  a  His- 
tory v(  that  Ti-ausaclion- Rpmi- 
uiscences  of  the  Mimsarru  and  the 
Siege — and  other  Stories  of  Old 
Times.    By  R.  B.  Thatcher.   18mo. 
Portrait     03  cents. 


GLASS'S   WASHINGTON.— 
A   Life  of  Washington,  in  Latia 
Proee,    by    Francis    Glass,    AM. 
Edited  by  J.  N.  Reynolds.     12ino 
Portrait.     91  13. 
ECCENTRIC    CHARACTERS  — 
Wonderful    Characters:    compri- 
s:ng  Memoirs  and  Anecdotes  of  the 
most  remarkable  Persons  of  every 
Age  and  Nation.     Bv  Hearv  Wil 
son      8vo.     Portroiti.     91  '90. 
WICLIF.  —  Life  of  Witlif.     By  C. 
W.  LeBaa,  l8mo.    Portrait.  50  c. 
CRANMER. -Life    of  Archbishop 
Craiuner.     Bv  Charles  Webb  Le 
Bas.  2voIs.  l8mo.  Portrait.  $100 
LUTHER.— Luther  and  the  Lnther 
an   Reformation.     By   Rev.  John 
Scott.    2  vols.  ISmo.    Portraits  of 
Luther  and  Melanctlioii.    91  00 
PRESIDENT  JACKSON.-Lifeof 
Andrew  Jacksim,  President  of  the 
U.  States  of  America.     By  Wm. 
Cobbett.  18ino.  Portrait.     40  cU. 
MATTHUS  THE  IMPOSTOR.— 
Matthias  and  his  Impostures  ;  or, 
the  Progress  of  Fonaticism  illus- 
trated in  the  extraordinary  Case 
of  Robert  Matthews  and  some  of 
his  Forerunners  and  Disciples.    By 
William  L.  Stone.     18mo.    63cts 
COL.  CROCKETT.— Sketches  anil 
Eccentricities  of  Col.  David  Crock- 
ett.    12mo.    50  cents. 
SAMUEL    DREW.-Tho   Lile, 
Character,  and  Lilerar)-  Labours 
of  Samuel  Drew.     Bv  his  eldest 
Son.     12ino.     75  cents. 
SILVIO  PELLICO^^v  Imnnsou 
mcnts:  Memoirs  oKilvio  Pellica 
da  Salluzzn.   Traii^ted  bv  "Thoa 
Roscoe     30  ceuttWf 
NAPOLEON.— Hist«n  of  Napoleoa 
Bonaparte.     By   JJt.  L<ickhart. 
2  vols.  l6mo.    Portniits.    [Family 
Library,  Nos.  4  and  5.]     90  cenlj. 
LORD  NELSON.— Life  of  Nelson. 
By  Robert  Southev.  LI.  D.    IHmo 
Portrait.    [Family  Library,  No.  6.J 
45  cents. 
ALEX.\NDER    THE    (inEAT.— 
The  Life  and  .\ctions  of  Alexander 
the  Great.     Bv  Rev.  J.  Williams. 
IHmo.  Portrait!  [Fam.  Lib,  Nii.7.} 
45  cents. 
SIR    ISAAC   NEWTON.— Life  of 
Sir  I».i.ic  Nev^lon.     Bv  Sir  David 
Urevrster,    LL.D.     18iii>..     Rii^. 
(Family  Library,  No.  30.]    45  cla. 
GAl.T'S    BYRON.— Life  of   Loit) 
Bvron.   Mv  John  Cali,  Esq.   J8mo. 
[family  Library,  No.  9.]    40  rU. 
MOHAMMED. -Life  of  Mohammed 
By  Rev.  George  Bush.   ISnio.   En- 
gravings.   [Fain.  Lilirar}',  No.  lO.J 
45  ceuts. 
GEORGE  IV.-Lifo  and  Times  of 
George  the    Fourth:    with  Aneo- 
dotes    of    distinguished    Persons. 
ByRov.  O.  Croly.    l8ino.    (Fam. 
Library,  No.  15.]    45  cents. 
PAINTERS  AND   SCULPTORS. 
— Lives  of  eminent  Pauilent  and 
Sculptors.      By    Allau    Cuinun*- 
liam.     5   vols.    I8mo.     Poilt«it«. 
(Family  Library,  No#.  17,  18,  l» 
66,  and  67.]    93  10. 


UNIVERSITY   OF  CALIFORNIA   LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

■Rnoks  not  returned  on  time  are  subject  to  a  fine  of 
50c'l°ef  tolutelfter  the  third  day  overdue  mcreas.ng 
to  $1  00  per  volume  after  the  sixth  day.  Books  not  m 
demand  may  be  renewed  if  application  .s  made  before 
expiration  of  lofin  period. 


RAY  2  ^  1S35 

CIRCUI^TION  DEPT. 


m^ 


*w  \^t^ 


iar'55»?F 


.*«■*' 


U.G.L.A. 

■aCaPT 

I  i-h  i  :  i378 


KtC't)  LD 


HOW  1  5-64-3  P« 


50m-7,'16 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


BDDQT13flaa 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


iTi ''     -.' 


tmm 


